Look to the Sky
by BravoExpressions
Summary: Marshall's father dies and when Mary decides to take an impromptu trip to see him, she is in for more of an eye-opening experience than she bargained for. Takes place mid-season-four. Rated T for language but there isn't a ton of it.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: I have been reading a lot of IPS stories since I got into the show, just dabbling and glancing around, seeing what's what. I've had this idea for awhile but it definitely came from pieces of a lot of other fics I read. I certainly tried to make the creation my own – my own spin, own plot, all that. It starts out similar to some, but turns later on; trust me on that. Just wanted everyone to know I had no intent to 'steal' ideas!**

**Anyway, this is supposed to take place in season four, roughly between "Kumar vs. Kumar" and "The Rolling Stones." Characters and show don't belong to me and all that jazz.**

XXX

It was a foggy and hazy Wednesday in Albuquerque – clouds hung low over the Sandia Mountains, big and grey against the peaks. The air was thick and palpable with humidity, the occasional burst of sunshine poking its way through the stubborn masses of fluff above.

It was a typical July for the southwest, but as Mary exited her car atop the parking garage at the Federal Building, she couldn't help hoping she wouldn't have to go hunt a witness in the wilderness today. Anymore, she'd been longing for a good throw-down given her current condition, and the fact that it made Stan sweat just thinking about rules and regulations – but not today.

Riding up in the elevator, sipping begrudgingly from a Styrofoam cup of disgusting herbal tea that made her want to hurl, she peered under the rims of her sunglasses into her bag to make sure she had the files she was supposed to go over with Marshall. A testy witness and his irksome paperwork had zapped most of her weekend while she dealt with Jinx, Brandi, and their haranguing questions about the baby. Why wasn't she keeping it? Couldn't she just let Brandi and Peter help? Grandma Jinx was practically salivating at the idea, but the whole thing gave Mary a headache. She was no mother. They should know that better than anyone.

The elevator dinged, signaling Mary's arrival on the top floor. She stepped out and was surprised to see that Marshall wasn't in yet. Unusual. She glanced at her watch and saw that it was close to ten o'clock. Definitely peculiar – Marshall rarely came in after 8:30 unless he was out dealing with witnesses. But he would've called or texted her about that.

Swiping her badge, she marched across the floor to her desk, dumping her cup, bag, and sunglasses on the papers strewn about. She peered into Stan's office and saw that he was consulting with Delia. Ordinarily, this wouldn't be entirely unexpected but something about it gave Mary an uneasy feeling. First glancing at her computer screen to make sure she didn't have any pressing e-mails, she grabbed her phone out of the bag and went to see what was going on.

"Knock-knock," she called, entering without waiting for an answer.

"Morning Mary," Stan said distractedly. He and Delia were hunched over a roadmap of the city, Stan pointing out various directions and murmuring under his breath.

"You heard from Marshall this morning?" Mary asked casually.

Stan looked up, hands still spread on the desk in front of him. An awkward pause followed, made more so when Mary realized Delia had the same look on her face that Stan did.

"Didn't realize this was such an earth-shattering question," Mary joked, hand going to her hip.

Stan shot Delia a glance before righting himself and facing Mary.

"Marshall didn't tell you?"

"Uh…no," Mary shook her head slightly. "Tell me what?"

She was definitely getting unnerved now. Someone had better fill her in on what was up – and soon – or she was likely to cock her gun.

"Marshall's dad died," Stan said bluntly. "He's going to be out all week; he flew to Kansas City yesterday morning."

The words slammed Mary like a freight train. Whatever she'd expected Stan to say, it wasn't this.

"Kansas City?" she repeated dumbly. Why was she zeroing in on that?

"Marshall's from a suburb in Kansas – Shawnee, I think? MCI is the nearest airport," Stan explained.

He was clearly completely thrown by the fact that Mary didn't already know. He folded the map splayed on his desk and asked Delia to grab him a cup of coffee, which she abided at once.

"How…?"

Mary was lost for what to say. The whole thing had made her strangely numb. It was as though she wasn't processing correctly. Realizing she was staring blankly, she attempted to finish her sentence.

"How did this happen? Seth wasn't sick was he?"

"Not as far as I know," Stan shrugged. "He was barely a year out of retirement. Marshall said he had a heart attack."

A million things started to whirl through Mary's mind – like her brain was on fast-forward. Marshall had flown home to be with his family. His dad – his hero, the man he'd idolized, wanted to be and then became – was dead. Unexpectedly, from the sound of it. Dimly, she recalled that Marshall was the oldest of three brothers. He would have to take care of a lot of the arrangements. A thousand miles away with relatives he barely saw and without a friend to comfort him.

And then the most staggering thought in the bunch.

_Why didn't he tell her? _

"Mary?" Stan was talking again.

She shook her head, trying to focus on her boss for the time being.

"What?"

"Where'd you just go?"

She wasn't sure. So she opted to swallow and make something up.

"Nowhere. Just thinking."

"I'm sure Marshall was just floored – had to get out there as soon as possible," Stan was attempting to placate her. "He'll call with an update soon."

He thought she was offended. She wasn't – strangely enough. What she _was_ feeling was difficult to describe. Just that she knew Marshall well enough to know he would've had a very good reason for not including her in something like this. Could it be because of her – the way she was; the fact that she pushed others away to avoid having to deal with anything emotional? Marshall was a good guy who thrived on such things. It was only because of his job that he didn't have a social life. Mary was it for him. Thus, the mystery of the secret became all the more puzzling.

"He told you," she was saying.

"Well, I'm his boss, Mary. He just wanted me to know where he'd gone," the excuse sounded feeble even to the older man but Mary had to admire his ability to come up with it.

"Right," she said, granting him some relief.

Stan allowed her to stand there, contemplating the situation, while he went back to his map, marking routes, consulting papers nearby.

Meanwhile, Mary was trying to figure out what to do. She could send something – some sort of consolation. But what would she send? Flowers, a card? That scarcely compensated. She could call him up; make him talk to her, get the scoop. But this wasn't some witness, someone over at the police department who she needed to get a story out of. This was her best friend who was carrying the burden of a windowed mother and the rest of his family without anyone to take care of him.

"I'll need you to take the Stone case until I can get Delia up-to-speed; figure out how we're going to wrangle this with you out-of-the-field…" Stan was rambling again, back on work.

But Mary wasn't listening. Without answering, she strode out of Stan's office, back to her desk.

"Mary?"

She grabbed her bag, shoved her phone back in the front pocket, and slipped her sunglasses onto her head.

"Inspector!"

She hardly heard him. Straightening the mass of papers on her desk, she tossed the half-drunk cup of herbal tea into the trash with a loud thud. She could clean up later.

"Inspector Shannon!"

Stan bolted out of his office and snatched her arm just as she was walking by. He had his 'tough boss' face on, but there was a hint of compassion behind the authority. A glimmer of understanding, or at least of compliance.

"If you think you're going out to check on that Stone character, you've got another thing coming," he said sternly, still gripping her arm firmly. "Not unless I or another Marshal is with you."

"I'm not," she answered truthfully, jerking free.

She started scrolling on her Blackberry, trying to get the Internet open while Stan stood next to her, clearly considering his next move. She could practically hear him huffing and puffing while she waited for him to crack. Just when she managed to bring up Google, he sighed.

"Give Marshall my best."

"Will do."

**A/N: Just the intro! Let me know what you think! I LOVE reviews! **


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Thanks to the two people who have reviewed so far; takes awhile to get started but better things ahead, I promise!**

XXX

The entire plane ride to Kansas City, Mary thought about what to say to Marshall. She was trying to read the pointless Sky Mall left in her seat back, but it had stupid pictures of even stupider items that no one with half a brain would ever buy, so her interest was limited. Who needed a pool float shaped like a frog? She just turned the pages idly, her mind elsewhere as she tapped her foot impatiently; the plane's jets a distant hum in her ears.

Marshall would be very upset; that much she could guess. He was sensitive, compassionate, and very prone to guilt. Mary knew he and his father had a pretty contentious relationship; to have the same job and handle it at completely opposite ends of the spectrum did that to people. But she also knew if it hadn't been for Seth, it was likely Marshall wouldn't have become a Marshal in the first place. On some level, he'd worshipped his dad and losing that was going to be rough.

"Ma'am?" a voice interrupted the thoughts rambling through Mary's mind.

She turned to find a female flight attendant with too-bright lipstick smiling cheerily in her direction. She was pushing a cart full of beverages and assorted snacks – crumbly pretzels and rock-hard cookies. Yum.

"Can I get you anything?" she asked, still with that pasted-on-grin. It was fairly creepy.

The nerves brought-on by the news of the morning had Mary longing to ask for a scotch or margarita – on the rocks. But she reeled herself in, knowing this would arouse suspicion, if nothing else.

"Just a Coke, thanks," she muttered.

In the back of her mind she remembered she wasn't really supposed to have caffeine but she hated Diet Coke and thanks to the aversion to coffee combined with the fact that liquor was off-limits, she decided to press her luck.

The stewardess – however derogatory that was – poured her a drink with four ice cubes and handed it to her on a napkin.

"Anything else?" she prompted.

Mary did not miss the eyes on her belly and wanted to tell her to keep the gawking to a minimum, but restrained herself.

"No," she replied shortly.

With that, the attendant was on her way and the minute she was gone Mary found herself wishing she'd asked for a pillow. The seat was hard on her back and this just depressed her – six months pregnant and she was already getting unfortunate aches and pains. Not that it was anything she couldn't handle.

This brought her back to the conversation she'd had with Stan earlier. He'd somehow caught her on her cell phone when she was halfway to the airport to confirm she'd checked with her doctor about flying. She'd managed to convince him she'd been cleared, but bit the bullet and called after they'd hung up. Doctor Reese wasn't exactly thrilled with the idea, but eventually gave her the okay when Mary pleaded her case. She smiled at the thought, knowing Marshall would be proud of her for going by-the-book.

Could that be why he hadn't told her about his dad? Was he worried about her traveling? He was hovering a lot more than usual thanks to her current condition. Although if this were the case, it would mean Marshall had anticipated her coming to see him and Mary didn't see how that was possible. When had she ever done anything just for him, because he needed her?

"Jesus," she murmured under her breath to no one in particular. It was a good thing the seat next to her was unoccupied.

That was why. Mary was everything Marshall wasn't – cold, unfeeling, unwilling to sit down and have a meaningful discussion and, by association, not exactly the person to phone when one's father passed away. He would need comforting and that was not something Mary was capable of doing. At least, not for Marshall.

Sighing and turning on her side to get more comfortable, Mary gazed out the window at the sun-dappled clouds, suspended in midair above the world of hurt that lay below for her partner. She made a promise to herself, then and there, whatever Marshall needed she would do it.

After all, she knew a thing or two about losing a dad.

**A/N: I know it's not much so far, but more in the next chapter - promise! Please review!**


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Marshall appears! :D **

XXX

Mary landed in Kansas City around 4:00 PM, feeling grateful that she had managed to get a direct flight. She'd only had time to pack a few clothes and necessities at home before jetting off to the airport, and so she didn't have to wait for her luggage. After a teeth-gnashing experience with a prehistoric pay phone trying to get a taxi service, she was feeling highly annoyed and snapped at her driver when he tried to put her bags in the trunk. She wasn't an invalid for God's sake.

"Where to?" he drawled from the front, clearly not wanting to deal with this grumpy passenger anymore than he had to.

Mary wrinkled her nose; he smelled like cigars and the cab was hot and stuffy. Outdoors wasn't much better; the air was so steamy she could practically feel the heat rising off the sidewalk. Scowling from the backseat, Mary read him the address to Marshall's parents' place.

The ride into the suburbs took another hour and half, much to Mary's chagrin and she had to remind herself most of the way why she was putting herself through it.

"Can't we get some air back here, cabbie?" she barked irritably an hour into the drive.

"It's running, lady," he sounded aggravated, like he was on the verge of turning around and smacking her.

Almost pleased to have the reaction, Mary pressed on.

"Then kill the hookah pipe for Christ's sake; I can barely breathe."

"You want to be walking?" he whirled around this time, which did not improve the smell.

"Hey Callaway – I got a kid here-," she gestured indistinctly at her stomach. "So either put it out or I'll report you to a superior. I see you got a nifty, handy little number posted right there."

She pointed to a garish, "How am I driving?" sticker in his front window. He sighed and cranked the air conditioning up another notch while Mary backtracked over what she'd just said. Using her pregnancy as an excuse – a crutch, a reason she was vulnerable. The thought made her squirm, but she decided the remark had been made in an undercover position. And she went undercover all the time, so no big deal.

The landscape turned neater and more suburban the closer they got to the Mann's house. It was so different from Albuquerque – manicured lawns, rows of flowers bordering walkways, ranch homes and mansions alike. Of course, people had those things in New Mexico too, but Mary found them off-putting and phony. Kansas wasn't anything like she expected – sure, they'd passed so many miles of wheat on the highway she could put away some stalks for the winter, but other than that it wasn't nearly as prairie-like as she'd anticipated.

She knew instantly when they reached Marshall's neighborhood. She could just see a tiny Mann running around such a place. The clustering, winding rows of houses twisted and turned through huge – seriously massive – trees, spreading canopies of leaves over the road. It was so secluded and private looking, just the sort of area Marshall would love. Nature and nurture wrapped up in one. The houses weren't overly small, but not obstructively colossal either. They sat back from the road, also sheltered by trees. The setting sun cast cozy shadows on the street, dappling the rich green leaves so they glimmered in the late afternoon beams.

The cab driver was about five houses away when Mary realized at once which one must belong to his parents – four cars were parked in the driveway alone, others lining both sides of the road, people coming to-and-from carrying dishes of food and flowers. Mary felt a lump in her throat, as she hadn't realized there would still be people visiting so late. Maybe it was better this way – easier to blend in with the crowd. Although in her current state she wasn't sure such a thing was possible.

Stopping in the middle of the road, as there was no place to park on the street, the driver came to a halt in front of a pleasant-looking house, part-brick, part-siding. There was a swing on the front porch off to one side, a cluster of flowers and plants in a garden outside the front window. A driveway snaked to the left side and an American flag was waving lazily from a space set into the wall by the front door. It looked like just the sort of place Marshall might grow up. Homey and snug.

"Thanks," Mary grumbled, reaching to open the door. She stepped out and fiddled in her bag for some cash. When she handed it over, she noticed her driver was looking a little ashamed of himself.

"Hey lady…" he began. "I didn't know you were here for a wake."

"Best apology ever," she groused, slipping the bills into his hand.

Then thinking she probably wouldn't have done much better under the circumstances, she reached back in the bag for a five – the tip she'd intentionally left off.

"Spend wisely," she remarked, slapping it a little hard against his skin.

He chuckled and drove away.

Standing like an idiot in the middle of the road, Mary suddenly realized she didn't have a clue what to say or do now that she was here. She'd never met anyone in Marshall's family – except Seth – anyone from his childhood or adolescence. More revelations on the way, she knew people were going to ask questions, maybe even wish she hadn't come at all – an outsider intruding on personal grief. She reminded herself she would only leave if Marshall said so. His opinion was the only one that mattered.

Boots making a click-clack noise against the pavement, she approached the house and started to wish she too had brought something of condolence – a meal or bouquet of roses. Somehow, her presence didn't seem like enough anymore.

The front door was open when she reached it and people were milling in the front hall as well as a sitting room off to the right, which contained a grand piano and squashy-looking sofa. Taking a deep breath, Mary pulled opened the glass door separating her from the foyer and entered.

Nobody really paid her any mind at first, despite the fact that she was shouldering a pretty decent-sized travel bag. They all looked so somber and subdued; the effect was highly disconcerting, although what she expected she didn't know.

Navigating her way among guests and into the living room, she saw the kitchen off to her right, an island in the middle piled high with various dishes. Her stomach emitted an unladylike growl and she realized she hadn't had anything to eat since the nasty cookies on the plane – the attendant had practically forced her to take them on her second trip down the aisle. Despite wanting to, pigging out didn't seem to be a very tactful thing to do, so she decided to hold off.

A group of kids was playing in the backyard behind a sliding glass door, although their frolicking seemed half-hearted at best. Mary decided all this hemming-and-hawing wasn't going to get her anywhere. She didn't see Marshall, so decided it was best to ask if he was even here. As the oldest son, surely he would be right in the thick of the trite, 'so sorry for your loss' speeches. She picked out an older-looking woman, at least past sixty, in a dismal pair of khaki pants and white button-up to approach. She was alone, sipping sedately from a glass of water, watching the children at the door. Maybe an aunt – a cousin, perhaps?

"Excuse me?" Mary initiated as politely as she could, stepping into the woman's line of vision to get her attention.

She started and snapped her eyes onto Mary's, looking lost and disoriented – staring right through her.

"I'm…I'm sorry to bother you…"

"No-no," the woman waved a no-nonsense hand and shifted the glass of water to her left to shake Mary's.

"Hi…" Mary continued, a little thrown by the sudden gesture. They hadn't even made introductions yet and they were already clasping fingers.

"I-I don't want to intrude," the inspector started again. "But I was looking for Marshall. Is he here?"

"Oh, yes," she said with a small smile. "He's just upstairs putting his niece down for a nap. Once he gets through a round of 'You are my Sunshine' she'll conk right out."

More information than Mary was expecting. She closed her eyes and shook her head, letting a smile of her own escape.

"I didn't know he had a niece," she found herself admitting before she could stop the words from escaping.

"Mmm hmm," the woman had an unidentifiable surge of proud about her. "Three, actually. And two nephews."

She nodded out the sliding glass door at the children running around in the yard. Mary was floored. Marshall was an uncle? How had she never asked him about this? She'd known he had brothers, that both were married. How had kids never factored into that equation?

"Well…thanks," she nodded at the woman, trying to wrap up the awkwardness she herself had brought on. "I'll just wait for him, then."

Mary turned to leave the woman to grieve in peace, but she caught her arm, making her turn back. Curiosity danced in her eyes; sparkling blues. There was something very familiar about those eyes.

The woman's mouth fell open – just barely – but enough to recognize she'd had some sort of revelation. She was still holding Mary's arm.

"You're Mary, aren't you?"

More shock. Someone knew her – someone she'd never met. As a US Marshal, this should've made her nervous, very nervous indeed, and the rapid beating of her heart definitely indicated such a reaction, but she clung to the safety she knew existed in a house such as this.

"Yes," she answered, her forearm dropping from the woman's grasp; she let go to put a hand to her mouth in surprise. "But how…?"

The answer came before Mary could finish her sentence.

"I'm Carolyn," she said and then, seeing the look of confusion on Mary's face, "Marshall's mother."

Mary's first thought was that she couldn't believe she'd pestered the widow her first five minutes through the door. But the second was that Marshall's mother, who she'd never seen before in her entire life, knew who she was on sight. What else did she know? What had Marshall told her? She rarely talked about Marshall at home; Jinx and Brandi knew the basics, but nothing else, and they saw him on a regular basis.

Before Mary could put any of this into a coherent thought, Carolyn was speaking again.

"Oh, Marshall will be so touched that you came," she actually teared up at the thought, something that embarrassed Mary even further, despite knowing it came from more than just her appearance.

"He could really use a friend here. He's been trying to take care of everything, but it's been so hard on him – he doesn't want me to see, but I know my son."

Mary was about to say she had suspected as much, but quickly realized she hadn't even offered her condolences to this woman, who was reminding her more and more of her partner the longer she spoke. Not just the eyes – although they were the exact, deep ocean blue that Marshall's were, making her think of the calmness of the waves at the beach, the sound of sea on sand. But, it was the gentleness, the calm demeanor weathering the storm, all the while managing to spread kindness to others. Sincerity.

"I am so sorry for your loss, Mrs. Mann," Mary finally managed.

"Carolyn," she nodded warmly and Mary tried to smile.

"Well, Carolyn. It seems…stale, I know; all the clichéd commiseration…"

"No," she shook her head this time, still smiling, albeit sadly. "Sharing in grief is the way we relate to each other; often, this is why people bring food or flowers to such an occasion – to show that they understand. We've been doing it since the middle ages."

Whoa. It was Marshall. In female form.

Mary chuckled at the positivity she was projecting on a day such as this and continued.

"Well, I'm afraid I didn't manage to bring any sustenance with me," she joked lightly. "Not that I need it."

She caressed her lower belly instinctively, surprised at herself for drawing attention to it. She realized she still had a smile glued on, which was putting her dangerously into stewardess-territory.

"Marshall mentioned a few weeks ago," Carolyn nodded at her belly. "I hope he's been keeping an eye on you."

The way it was delivered was so funny to Mary. Not at all like a stern mother who expected her son to look out for the helpless, hapless female. But like a mom who understood that her boy loved his friend – and knew that friend could be pretty prickly and headstrong more than often.

"He certainly has," Mary answered.

"Mary," Carolyn reached out and stroked her arm briefly, a touch that made Mary tense without meaning to. She wasn't used to people having their hands on her, but she hoped she covered well.

"If you'd like to go upstairs and see Marshall," she lowered her voice when she said this. "That'd be just fine. I'm sure he'd like a moment away from all the people. It can be very tiresome."

Mary nodded and swallowed, a little moved herself by the generosity. It was as though they'd known each other for years. Which, Mary realized, they probably should have.

"Thank-you," she said.

With a nod, she headed back the way she had come, weaving in-and-out of the sullen mourners to the staircase she'd seen coming through the front door. There, she escaped without much detection and was able to relax a little once she was out-of-sight.

The upstairs hall was dark and bigger than Mary was expecting. It curved to the right at the back, leading to what she could assume to be more bedrooms – other than the two, add bathroom that she could already see. Quietly, she ventured to the end and peered around the corner, where a dim light lit the back hall. With a jolt of her heart, she saw Marshall with his head stuck into the room at the furthest distance; only his back was visible. She stopped before she got too close, not wanting to startle him.

He was whispering softly, serenely.

"Holler if you need me, Claire Bear. Just a short nap and then we can have some pie when you wake up."

Mary had to grin. If anyone knew about taming with the promise of pie, it was Marshall. Easing the door closed after a muffled reply from the niece, Marshall ran a hand over his eyes, looking drawn and worn. The gesture alone made Mary want to go to him.

So much for trying to reign in the surprise. Marshall was clearly stunned the moment he saw Mary standing at the end of the hall, leaning on the wall. He actually gasped out loud and stuttered in step, cowboy boots snagging the rug that adorned the carpet.

Neither one spoke for what felt like hours. Marshall just stared, trying to make sure he was really seeing her. Could the person he'd longed for most in this darkest hour really be standing right in front of him? Was the lack-of-sleep making him delirious? And Mary assessed him at once. He looked terrible – shadows under his eyes, stubble on his chin, clothes sagging on his slumping shoulders.

"Mary," he finally said.

She stayed where she was. He could come when he was ready.

Apparently he was ready now. Three quick steps and he was right in front of her.

"What are you doing here?" his voice was hoarse and tired-sounding. He also looked strangely alarmed, like something might be wrong – forgetting that _he_ was what was wrong.

"What do you think I'm doing here?" she couldn't resist saying.

"I just…didn't expect…"

Words were going to be difficult, she could tell. And at the same time, he was trying to maintain a level of consideration – didn't want it to sound as though he hardly anticipated someone like Mary, so flippant with emotions, to come to his aide in a moment so raw with such sensations.

"Is everything all right?" Marshall continued, eyes skirting up and down, roving over Mary's figure. "Are you okay?"

"Marshall, of course I'm-," she shook her head, the concern almost grating on her nerves and she sighed. "I came to see you. Stan told me about your dad this morning."

"I thought he would," he mumbled, shoving his hands into his pockets guiltily and looking at the ground.

This wasn't going at all like Mary had hoped; she was making him feel worse and how had that happened? Just the same, she couldn't _not_ take advantage of such a segue.

"Which begs the question…" she took a step closer to him, staring up into his big, hazy eyes. "Why didn't _you_ tell me?"

She was so close she could see him swallow, could see the bones jutting out in his neck, the paleness of his skin. She'd never viewed him in such a bad state. He looked like a ghost; it scared her and also made her want to flood him with energy and vigor. Turn him back into the Marshall she knew so well.

"I didn't want to bother you."

Woof. That was a blow to her gut. The man's father had died and he refused to confide in his only friend because of the way it would affect _her_.

The best she could do was mend the fences she'd already torn apart a long time ago.

"What would bother me is not being here for you," she murmured. "You're my friend. I wanted to make sure you were all right."

The air became so thick with Mary placing her heart on her sleeve, she started to feel a little trapped and did what she could to avoid running off.

"So, you're the only one who gets to linger? Breathe down the proverbial neck in a time of need?" she tried to smile but it didn't quite work. Either way, Marshall neglected to notice.

He still had his gaze locked on the floor, not meeting her eyes. Mary decided she could wait until he felt comfortable, but when he hung his head for several minutes, she could stand it no longer.

"Marshall?" she dipped her chin, trying to catch his eye.

Slowly, he brought his own chin from the carpet and allowed her to see into his blank stare. He looked so lost; Mary didn't know what to do. Marshall was always in control, steadfast and stable – the dependable one. Not a basket case like Mary.

"Is there…?" she paused, and then finished, "Is there anything I can do?"

What a dumb question. What was she supposed to do? Bring his father back? Ease his pain? Fill the void and abolish his guilt?

But Marshall didn't seem to think it was dumb at all. His tone was flat and even, but Mary could hear the need – the longing.

"Can I hug you?"

Her heart just fell apart; melted into one giant puddle. Only Marshall would ask permission. Not even, 'I could use a hug' or 'A shoulder would be nice.' No; he thought of her feelings. Her distaste for touch. It was always about her.

But it was no secret they were of one mind. Slipping her bag off her shoulder, she let it hit the ground next to the wall with a thump.

"Yes. Of course you can hug me, doofus."

She took the last step to his front and held out her arms, pulling him into her embrace.

"Come here."

He was already there. It was the oddest sensation; feeling a man who was obviously weak down to his bones, he went limp in the contact. And yet he was gripping her back so hard it was as though he were hanging on for dear life. She could feel his nails digging into her and then felt him shudder against her shoulder.

"Oh, Marshall…" she whispered, giving his own back a rough pat.

"I'm sorry, partner."

**A/N: Okay! Finally, a longer chapter, right? Hope you guys are getting a little more sucked-in now that things have picked up and Mary and Marshall are together. Please review! Thanks to those that have!**


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Thank-you so much for the small influx of reviews! Was hoping the last chapter would garner a little more response! Not much going on in this one, but stay with me!**

XXX

Thus ensued a chain of events Mary never could've predicted. She was invited to stay for dinner with Marshall's family – his mother, brothers, their wives, and children. Once those who came to pay their respects had gone home, Carolyn pulled a variety of dishes from the gaggle brought by the guests to heat up. Mary had tried to decline the offer, insisting it was a time for family but Carolyn maintained just as firmly that she _was_ family. The thought was ludicrous to her. The woman had never met her and wanted her included in their private gathering. It only made her more and more curious about what Marshall had been telling his mother all these years.

"Mary, do you have a place to stay?" Carolyn asked, whipping the saran wrap off a dish of green bean casserole.

Mary was at the counter, chopping up a loaf of bread. She was no chef but she refused to just sit and let these people, who had suffered an enormous shock, dote on her.

Marshall's brothers were out in the backyard, getting the five children settled at a picnic table. She had quickly discerned that they were Griffin and Julian – three and five years younger than Marshall, respectively. Griffin had the two oldest girls; twins, Sarah and Sophie, nine years old. He also had a six-year-old, Quinn. The remaining two belonged to Julian – Daniel, eight, and four-year-old Claire, whom Marshall had been putting to bed when Mary had arrived. She managed to gather all this once she and Marshall arrived back downstairs, amongst the bustle in the kitchen. She didn't want to have to prod Marshall for it and her careful listening skills as a Marshal proved helpful. Griffin and Julian had herded the kids back outside shortly after. The only thing Mary hadn't latched onto yet were the wives' names; they hovered at the edges of the picnic table, equipping the children with forks and napkins.

Mary backtracked over Carolyn's question quickly, but truthfully, she hadn't even considered how long she'd stay in town. It depended on Marshall, she supposed.

"I hadn't really thought about it…" she admitted awkwardly, looking to Marshall for some sort of guidance but he had his head in the fridge and wasn't paying any attention.

"Then you'll stay here," the woman decided at once.

"Oh no…" Mary found herself disagreeing immediately. "No…I'm sure there's a hotel nearby, if I can hang around long enough for the…" she cleared her throat unnecessarily and then, deciding it was better to continue, "the funeral."

Marshall slammed the refrigerator door a little harder than was needed, but Mary pretended not to notice. They'd barely had time to talk after the hug and she wanted to get inside his head more than ever.

"I'm sure you have your hands full," Mary babbled, trying to cover up her mention of the service.

"Not as much as you'd think," Carolyn sighed. "The boys live here in town; only Marshall's bunking here with me."

She sounded lonely; Mary had to admire the way she was holding up. She was handling the death much better than Marshall, who was practically mute.

"And you don't want to stay at that Best Western a few miles away – you hear appalling things on the news about the service – it just makes the most sense to have you here if Marshall already is," Carolyn rationalized.

"Mom," Marshall finally spoke, unwrapping a dish of mashed potatoes and digging a spoon through them to stir. "You know Mary and I aren't a couple."

The very accusation made Mary's skin prickle all over, but Marshall said it calmly – almost like he was convincing himself more than his mother.

"Honey, I know the difference," his mother scoffed and patted his cheek lovingly. "But she's your friend and she's pregnant and she came all this way…"

Marshall was looking increasingly uncomfortable. Mary wished his brothers would come back inside to give him some relief. He cast a deer-in-the-headlights look at his partner, who tried to keep her face even and moderate; tried to tell him silently she would do whatever put him at ease.

Unfortunately, Carolyn caught this look and seemed to think it meant something else.

"I know you're pals," she reasserted her claim that she was aware of the status of Mary's and Marshall's relationship. Mary believed her; she could tell already that Carolyn just went with whatever made her boys happy.

"And Marshall, you're seeing that girl…" she wiggled her fingers, trying to remember the name; Mary decided to help her out.

"Abigail," she supplied.

"Yes, Abigail."

This brought another question to Mary's mind. Did Abigail know Marshall was here? Had he told _her_ about his dad? And if not, what did she think he was doing? The last Mary had heard they were sleeping at each other's houses, but she didn't think they were living together. She suddenly found herself hoping beyond reason they weren't.

"So, there's the girlfriend and then there's you," Carolyn's smile seemed to brighten at the mention of Mary. "Two separate relationships. See Marshall, I can differentiate. And it's no problem if Mary stays here with us."

She tried to flash her smile to her son, but he didn't bite. Mary nodded and went back to her loaf of bread, making a mental note not to bring up Abigail unless her partner did. Marshall lugged the bowl of potatoes next to her and leaned in close so his mother couldn't hear.

"You don't have to stay if you don't want to."

The out made the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. Why was he doing this? Trying so hard to give her what she wanted? Didn't he ever think about himself?

"Carolyn, if you're sure; I'm great with camping out here. So long as you're okay with my use of the bathroom every twenty minutes."

Marshall's mother laughed; it sounded feeble and tired but she seemed to mean it just the same.

"You can have the guest room around the corner – not at the back; that's where the grandkids stay when they visit – but the other. Marshall can show you later," she instructed.

"I'm sure that'll be fine."

Marshall was clearly thrown by her cheerfulness. He was staring at her like he'd never seen her before in his life.

"Cool your jets, partner," Mary said, giving his arm a quick, reassuring pat. "You know it's my job to look out for you."

**A/N: Abigail doesn't get a ton of exposure, but I hope you all will approve of the way I work her in now and later on just to suffice. Thanks for reviewing! **


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: Have neglected to say for a few chapters that IPS doesn't belong to me. So, it doesn't (just to clear that up.) ;) **

XXX

After an only semi-awkward dinner with the grief-stricken Mann's, Mary decided to turn in, finding herself jet-lagged the longer the evening wore on. Griffin and Julian returned to their homes with their families and she could tell Carolyn was getting tired too. Marshall, however, despite the fact that he looked like he could pass out any minute, kept bustling around the kitchen. He put dishes away, wrapped the leftover food, and was on the verge of sorting out the flowers people had sent when his mother insisted he quit and go to bed.

"He hasn't slept since he got here," she said in an undertone to Mary on their way up.

This bit of information was disconcerting to Mary and she made a mental note to keep quiet if she had to get up in the night to pee.

The guest room, just around the turn in the hall, was small but cozy. It housed a decent-sized queen bed with a blue-and-white checkered spread, an end table, and dresser. Mary was quick to change into her pajamas; a pair of striped drawstring pants that she could still get on because of the elastic in the waist and an old, too-big white T-shirt which hid her bulge. Resorting to the fact that she'd just have to get Marshall alone tomorrow to chat, she was asleep the moment her head hit the pillow.

She heard the noise around four in the morning, when she cared enough to grope for her phone to check the time. At first she thought it was outside – some sort of animal burrowing and skulking around in the wilderness. But the longer she shifted, trying to get comfortable and ignore it; she realized it was coming from up the hall, toward the stairs. Since she had to pee anyway, Mary sighed and lifted herself out of the bed, pattering down the hall to the bathroom.

It was a most peculiar sound – muffled and foggy; short bursts of this rhythm before a brief halt. Then it would start all over again. After her pit stop in the restroom, Mary cautiously approached the door she heard it coming from and was startled when she almost hit herself in the head with the sign adorning the gate. There was a nail set into it, and carved into a block of wood dangling from a piece of twine was the word, "Marshall." Glancing around briefly, she saw that the adjoining rooms had the same decoration bearing his brother's names, except for the one closest to the stairs which she could assume belonged to his parents. Or his mother.

Confident now she wasn't going to burst in on Carolyn or anything else unwelcome, Mary eased the door open and stuck her head in.

It was darker in his bedroom and she could hardly discern the shapes. She could just barely see Marshall himself, sitting up in bed, back against the headboard.

"Marshall?" she whispered.

Her voice cut the gloom like a port in the storm, a lighthouse at sea. Far more gentle than Marshall was used to hearing from his partner.

Stumbling uncertainly to the right, she made out a lamp on a dresser and fumbled with the latch to turn it on.

It bathed the room in a soft, hush yellow and showed Mary the saddest sight she'd ever laid eyes on. A grown man sitting in his childhood bed with cowboy sheets, lassos and horses dancing on the wall. He was sobbing, shoulders racking with gasps, some sort of book in his lap.

"Oh, Marshall…" Mary breathed. She was standing over him in just a few short steps as he tried to wipe his eyes but it was a futile attempt at best.

This close, she saw that the book was a photo album. What she could assume to be a younger version of his dad dressed in a full Marshal's uniform, squinting into the sun, was spread on his lap.

"What are you doing to yourself?" she whispered, more to herself than to him. She sat on the small space of bed there was – it was only a twin – and coaxed the album out of his fingers, slipping it into her own. Closing it softly, she set it behind her, out-of-sight.

Marshall was starting to get a grip now, but tears still streamed from his eyes; he just managed to get the heaving sobs under control.

"I'm sorry I woke you up," he said thickly.

"Marshall, its fine," she told him earnestly, not finding time to even be thrown by the thoughtfulness.

He still felt so far from her – so distant. In an attempt to rectify this, Mary scooted closer to him, her too-wide ass by his stomach now, but they were face-to-face and that was helping.

He sat up slightly and Mary knew then, she shouldn't have to make him ask again. He'd already done that once when he didn't have to. Seeing him cry like this was aching her heart enough as it was.

She pulled one arm around his shoulders, practically yanking him into her grasp but the way he fell against her was enough to make her believe he had as much need for it as she did. He let his head rest in her chest, renewed sobs shaking him now, and Mary idly ran her fingers through his hair, mussing it up but hoping it was a source of comfort.

After several minutes of this, she heard him again.

"Thank-you for coming."

Polite to the very end. He hadn't had time to express his gratitude earlier.

"No problem," she answered truthfully. "Keeps me outta trouble. You know how Stan's been pulling out whatever hair he has left just trying to keep me out of the field."

A very shaky laugh came from her partner and he sat up, sniffling and running his finger under his nose like a child to keep it from dripping. He settled himself back against the headboard; Mary stayed where she was. After an uncomfortable pause, Mary decided it was up to her to get the ball rolling.

"Are you getting any sleep?" she couldn't help herself from asking.

"No," he shook his head. "I was downstairs earlier just…going through some things, you know deciding what to write thank-you cards for, and then I came up but…" he shrugged, indicating he hadn't been able to doze off.

"So you thought you'd take a dismal journey down memory lane to help in that department?" Mary asked skeptically.

Another shrug, "I was already up."

She sighed and rubbed her eyes. Marshall must've taken this for frailty on her part, because he reached out and put his hand on her knee.

"Were you able to rest?" his baby blues held concern and she had to fight being exasperated. _She_ was supposed to take care of _him_.

"Yes, I slept-," she shook her head, biting back the accusatory tone. "I don't want to talk about me."

He looked confused for a mere moment, and then his eyes turned dark and sad again, almost as though he was disappointed.

"I'd rather talk about you than me right now," he muttered.

Mary smiled sadly; Marshall thought she looked beautiful in his dim bedroom light, hair slightly matted from bed, but her eyes sparkled in a way he'd never really noticed before. They were probing his, determined to get inside his head.

"Marshall," she began. She reached out and slowly ran her hand through his hair again. It felt so good; he could feel her nails against his skin, rough enough to make him close his eyes, but gentle enough to help him relax.

"What happened?" she pressed. "To Seth. Stan said it was a heart attack?"

They had to start somewhere. And if the situation were reversed, she knew Marshall would go with blunt force too. Or, he would if Mary didn't shove him away first.

Marshall shrugged, averting his eyes to the red comforter that hid his cowboy sheets.

"It was. That's basically it. Apparently he had a…condition none of us knew about. Too many years hunting down the criminals…stress…"

He shrugged and shook his head, refusing to meet his partner's glance.

"Marshall," suddenly, Mary understood. She took his chin in her hand and guided it up, forcing him to look at her. "You're not afraid, are you? That the same thing will happen to you?"

"We ran the same track," he shrugged. "Logistics…genetics…"

"But a totally different race," Mary interrupted, a little louder than she meant to. "Marshall, you and Seth are built from different stuff. He operated on…blood and guts and fear. And you…" she shook her head disbelievingly. "With you it's all…heart."

She didn't mean for Seth's method to sound so mediocre compared to Marshall's; she got so caught up in the incredulity that Marshall could think he was similar to his father. They might've had the same job, but the comparisons really ended there.

"Not exactly much alike, are we?" Marshall was suddenly saying.

Uh-oh. Her inability and inexperience with compassion was starting to show. Marshall caught the guilt that flitted across her face and decided to placate her.

"It's okay," he said. "You didn't confirm anything I didn't already know."

"Look, Marshall…" Mary began, attempting to mend her blunder. She put her hand back on his knee, underneath the covers.

"Just because you're a good guy and you weren't like your dad doesn't mean he wasn't a good guy too."

Not very poetic, but she hoped she was getting there.

"He must've been something else when you were a kid. Why else would you want to be a Marshal? That counts for something. It counts for a lot, actually."

Better now. The weight in her chest was starting to lift. Somehow, she had a feeling Marshall was going to latch onto whatever she said anyway. He was nodding, at least.

Mary decided to let that hang for a moment, wait it out until Marshall had something of his own to say. She needed to be patient with him while he processed, while he figured how to put what he was feeling into thoughts.

It took her a moment before she realized he was shedding tears again, a single slipping down his cheek and dotting the stitches on the comforter.

"Marshall…" Mary sighed. She hated seeing him like this.

"We didn't get along," he managed, sounding choked up and on the verge really crying. "We did, but…I wasn't what he thought I should be…"

"Marshall," and this time she said it much more sternly, like with a witness who was losing their head. She allowed herself to move closer to him; she was almost slipping off the bed entirely now, but she hung on. Putting a hand on his shoulder, she started straight into his eyes.

"You cannot feel guilty about this. Seth loved you. He may have been critical and judgmental of how you did your job but a guy with that kind of scrutiny would not have been able to deny you are one kick-ass Marshal."

He was gazing at her like she was from another world; an angel descended from heaven. Mary was never so forthcoming with feelings. The change was alarming, but it fit all at the same time. She was still Mary; the words just took off in different directions, forming new thoughts.

"Please tell me you believe that," she whispered, allowing her hand to slip from his shoulder, into his lap.

Desperation in her face. Longing for him to understand.

"I believe _you_ think that," he finally said. "For now, that's more than ample."

He gave her a tiny smile and she pulled away from him slightly. Dead father and he was content just knowing his best friend cared and was able to put it into words. Unselfish to the max.

When Mary backed up, she ran into the photo album, its corner jutting into her butt. Reaching blindly behind her, she picked it up and held it in her hands, smooth leather cover soft against her fingers. Without asking, Marshall took it from her and starting flipping through the pages. Photo after photo flashed past, so quickly Mary couldn't discern the people, places, or events going on. Finally, Marshall stopped in the middle, his finger tracing the images of individuals lost in the warp of time – a past life, slipping like water through his palm.

"This is my favorite," he murmured.

Curiosity getting the better of her, Mary turned her head at an awkward angle to get a better look.

A little boy, maybe five or six, was flashing the camera a cheesy smile. He was wearing cowboy boots and a hat so big it almost covered his eyes. Otherwise, his outfit was lacking as he had on cut-off denim shorts and a white T-shirt. But a red bandanna was tied around his neck and he was holding a toy cap pistol in both hands. Behind him was Seth, jeans and a Marshal's polo, cocking his own gun and giving the photographer a silly, mock-serious face, one-eyebrow raised.

"Is that you?" Mary reached and put her finger to the plastic separating her skin from the photo. A tiny Marshall.

"Yeah," Marshall admitted. "Dad hardly ever broke character – all business – but mom somehow got him a good mood, fooling around with me before he left for work…"

Thus, the moment was born. Captured in time. Held forever.

"I'm surprised he didn't tell you his gun wasn't a toy," Mary joked, seeing the glock raised in the photo.

"Nah, I got that speech at a week old," Marshall chuckled too.

"Look at the way you're holding that plastic piece of crap," Mary squinted, peering closer at the Marshall in the photo. "You're totally at attention; ready to fire at a moment's notice."

She flashed him an admirable smile.

"A total pro at six years old," she was still grinning.

She saw him looking dreary again, the memories threatening to overcome him once more, and placed her palm to his cheek, hoping to bring him back to earth for even a fraction of a second.

The whisper was for his benefit and from the look in his eyes; she knew it had done the trick.

"Your dad taught you well."

**A/N: Hope you all enjoyed this chapter! Lots of emotion! Thanks for reviewing!**


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: Not sure how the last chapter grabbed you guys. I hope the story is going well but you all can be the judge.**

XXX

The next day was a slow one for Mary. Marshall had to go the funeral home with his mother to make sure arrangements had been made for the service day after next. This left Mary at the house with his brothers and their wives; she'd tried to come along be of some help to Marshall but he'd insisted she rest, going on and on about how the travel probably put too much stress on her and the baby. As a result, Mary turned grouchy and sullen and couldn't imagine she was being a very good guest for Griffin and Julian.

The three of them sat at the kitchen table, watching the wives play with the kids in the backyard. The day was sunny and steamy – just like every other one this month. Didn't seem to matter where you were in July; the weather was the same. Griffin and Julian sipped lemonade while Mary pretended to enjoy hers. It was too sour and she could hardly swallow without gagging.

"It's too bad this is our first time meeting, Mary," Griffin said. "Frankly, I expected to see you long before now; the way Marshall talks about you."

Both brothers were much rougher than Marshall – not unkind, but chiseled somehow; ragged. Mary could see that they took after Seth, where Marshall favored Carolyn.

"Yeah, about that," Mary referred Griffin's question. "What exactly does Marshall say?"

The men exchanged a knowing laugh, eyeing each other in a maddeningly superior way.

"Care to share with the class?" Mary prompted, hand clenched nervously around her lemonade. The glass was sweating and making her fingers wet but she didn't let go.

"Let's just say…" Julian began, glancing at Griffin once more as though for approval. "If the sun didn't rise until you woke up, he'd hardly be surprised."

Mary didn't know what the hell that meant. She was getting annoyed with their secretive attitudes, like they knew something she didn't.

"He practically had hysterics when he found out you were pregnant," Julian continued with a long gulp of lemonade. "But it will be nice for him. He adores our kids, but he can't see them nearly as often as he wants."

Mary felt herself tense. She ascertained that Marshall had confided in his mother that Mary wasn't keeping the baby; the careful way she tiptoed around the subject indicated as much. But she could tell already he hadn't granted his brothers the same honor.

"The kids seem to love him too," she replied to avoid the subject of her pregnancy.

"Oh yeah," Griffin chuckled, but he seemed to soften with the thought. "Uncle Marshall hangs the moon as far as they're concerned."

Mary found herself grinning at the analogy. A tall, strapping guy like Marshall would seem larger-than-life to a group of little rug rats running around. She knew without even having to ask that he played in all their games, tied their shoes, and combed their hair. Doting. Just as he did on Mary.

"It's good, really; that he's here," Griffin was still speaking. "With dad gone…"

An uncomfortable silence; Julian cleared his throat and fiddled with a Sweet n' Low stuck in a glass tray in the center of the table. Griffin shook his head, trying to get the phrase back.

"Well, they were always impressed by his badge and everything," he shrugged and forced a smile. "Marshall's got that stuff too; so it's good…"

He trailed away, nothing else to add. Mary glanced to the kids in the yard. The two boys, Daniel and Quinn, were swinging; Quinn looked like he was whining because he couldn't pump as high as his cousin. The twins were playing some sort of hand-clapping game at the picnic table; the darker-haired one kept slapping her sister's hand, undoubtedly telling her she was doing it wrong. Little Claire, the youngest, stood apart from the others while her mother and aunt chatted animatedly near the door, glancing up every now and then to make sure the kids hadn't killed each other.

Mary had seen Marshall with them last night. They were different around him – smiling, laughing, pulling on his legs and jumping up and down to tell some silly story. He listened attentively, grinning himself, giving all of them as much time as he could. Every now and then she'd seen him flash his badge and the boys gathered close, tracing the points on the star, asking to put it on. They were going to miss that without Seth around.

"It's rough to lose a parent," Mary said to Griffin and Julian, taking a sip of her drink without meaning to – but for something to do. "Always."

"It was just so unexpected…" Julian replied. "Dad was hardly ever sick and then…"

"This house is so different without him," Griffin gazed at the ceiling, eyes catching the cookie jar on the counter, the cuckoo clock on the wall. "I wonder if mom will even keep it."

Mary didn't have to inquire to know that losing his childhood home would crush Marshall and she wanted to tell Griffin not to put the idea in their mother's head.

"What's your family like, Mary?" Julian asked suddenly for a change of subject. "Marshall only mentioned that you have a sister…"

"Yeah," she nodded, trying not to show her surprise at their knowing about Brandi. "I do. She's six years younger than I am; engaged to be married."

Saying it aloud hit Mary like a two-by-four. Oh, shit. Today was the day she was supposed to go with Brandi to pick out a maid of honor dress. Shit-shit-shit. She didn't hide her frustration very well; raking her fingers through her hair; she sighed and shut her eyes, pissed at herself for forgetting.

"You okay?" Griffin looked slightly alarmed. It was completely different than Marshall's 'alarmed' face. Griffin clearly wanted to jump up and leave the room. Marshall would be jumping up to be by her side.

"Yeah, sorry," she shook her head. "Just reminded myself of something I was supposed to do today. Excuse me a minute, will you?"

"Sure," Griffin nodded and Julian did the same, gesturing into the living room beyond as though indicating privacy.

"Thanks."

She grabbed her glass of lemonade and, deliberately passing the sink on her way into the front hall, dumped it down the drain. She couldn't stand any more of that acidic bile. They were lucky she hadn't hurled.

Mary dashed out the front door and took a seat on the porch swing; with a jolt she saw that she had three missed calls from Brandi. She'd put her phone on silent this morning so she could be more present for Marshall but quickly realized she couldn't really do this anymore. She would've been in huge trouble with Stan if he'd needed something. Dialing rapidly, she chewed her thumbnail and waited for Brandi to answer, hoping she wouldn't be too upset.

She picked up after the second ring.

"Where the hell are you?"

Her voice was hoarser than usual, like she might've been crying. This did not improve Mary's mood.

"Squish, I can explain…"

"You better – and fast! But something tells me it'll be vague and indistinct just like it always is. Mary, I've cut you a lot of slack, missing stuff for this wedding, but I really wanted you here today and the least you could do…"

"Brandi, Marshall's dad died. I flew to Kansas City to be with him."

Her sister's hysteria had wrested her seams like a rope untangling, unraveling in a big heap. She knew the revelation would make Brandi feel badly about her little pity party and that wasn't really her intent, but how else was she supposed to get a word in edgewise?

"Oh, no," she heard her say; Mary could tell instantly she was sorry.

"I'm sorry I missed it Squish, I just…"

"No, its okay," she cleared her throat and Mary could hear her sniffling, pulling it together. "Oh, poor Marshall. Is he all right?"

"Not really," Mary admitted. "He's keeping busy, trying to handle everything but his insomnia's a bitch. His mom said he hasn't slept since he got here."

"That's so sad," Brandi breathed; Mary could picture her hand on her chest – a dramatic symbol of distress. "Will you tell him I'm sorry?"

"Yes, I will," Mary nodded. The late afternoon breeze was humid; dust flew in the patches of dirt on the lawn and the flowers in the front garden looked dry. Mary guessed they hadn't had rain in awhile. A drought was taking multiple forms in this place.

"Brandi, I'm not sure when I'll be back," Mary admitted. "But why don't you e-mail me pictures of a couple dresses; I'll borrow Marshall's laptop later and give them the one-over. I know it's not the same…"

Evidently trying to be a decent person for Marshall was carrying over into Brandi. Ordinarily she would've just brushed off the fact that she'd skipped out on the occasion, told Brandi to get over herself, and hung up.

"I can do that," Brandi was saying. "Marshall needs you more than I do."

Mary wasn't sure that was true. But it felt nice to hear it.

**A/N: Hope you guys will review. By the by, just in case anyone was wondering, I am obviously fabricating Marshall's family. We know he has brothers but that's about it so I filled in the gaps as I saw fit. Hope everyone is okay with that and thanks for reviewing.**


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: Anyone still hanging onto this? I hope I haven't deviated too badly from the character's true selves but I wonder when reviews taper off. Even a little feedback is much appreciated!**

XXX

It wasn't until after dinner that night that Mary was able to get Marshall alone. It was a tense meal, punctuated with a lot of unhappy comments from the kids, who ganged up and refused to eat outside in the heat. Thus, the fit at the kitchen table was tight; the whole thing made Mary very ill-at-ease. Her belly kept getting in the way every time she tried to move, knocking her elbows into Marshall. It became so awkward; most of them left their plates half-eaten to get away from the table. Marshall kept up a running commentary with his family, but his tone was uneven and flat; completely devoid of spirit.

When Julian and Griffin got the kids settled in the living room with some cheesy animated flick (which Daniel, the oldest boy, complained about loudly) Mary noticed Marshall was sitting by himself in the backyard on the steps of the deck. He had a beer bottle in hand, staring out into the darkness. Mary had been stuck on the phone for a conference call with Jinx and Brandi about dresses and had neglected to notice him disappear.

Knowing she wasn't going to be missed by the rest of the Mann's, she slid open the glass door to join her partner, shutting it securely behind her. She eased herself down beside him; the air was still dense, heavy with humidity and it was hard to breathe. Mary thought she could see the heat waves even in the dark.

"Hey stranger," she said to Marshall.

It was as though his mind was on a delay; it took him at least ten seconds to register she was even there.

"Hi." And then, "How was your day?" he sipped from the beer bottle.

"The most uneventful I have had in eons," she replied. "How was yours?"

Marshall sighed, shoulders slumping hopelessly; his figure was a dreary silhouette in the dark. He downed another gulp of beer before responding.

"I saw him," he finally said.

"Who?" Mary furrowed her brow in confusion.

Inside, someone snapped on the light that shined on the back porch, throwing the right side of Marshall's face into relief. There were bags under his eyes, his hair limp, cheeks sunken with grief and exhaustion.

"My dad."

Mary started to shake her head, not comprehending what he meant or where this was going. It was so unlike Marshall to be so brief – so blunt. Normally, he would be rattling off the events on a day such as this, filled with facts and figures about those who had gone through what he had – what the proper way to grieve was, ABC, down the line. But this was different. He had so clearly lost his way.

"They showed mom and I how they…" he paused, gesturing indistinctly with his right hand as though forcing the words out. "How they made him up so he'll look his best in the…"

He couldn't finish, but Mary grasped the general gist. How he would look in the casket. Likely, nothing as Marshall remembered him – too-pink cheeks, fluffed hair, without his badge or his gun.

"Marshall, God…" she whispered, shaking her head just trying to picture what he must've gone through in those moments. She was grateful he'd had his mother, but sometimes you need another – someone apart from the closer circle of grief.

"You should've let me come," she found herself saying.

"I've seen bodies before…" she heard the tears in his voice, even if they weren't falling. "Been to the morgue countless times. It's no big deal."

"He was your father," she reminded him, as if he didn't already know. "Hey," interjecting sharply.

Marshall turned at the roughness of her voice, the one she used with the felon witnesses, the ones who had wronged another.

"I know the world of hurt you're in right now. Trust me. I know."

"I trust you," he said meekly. As if that had been the point. Did he have a sickness? A disease that made him completely incapable of accepting help, of taking care of himself before another?

"You didn't need to see the body," Marshall said before Mary could speak again. He shook his head and shuddered, but it didn't seem to be because of the feelings that were haunting – it seemed to be because of Mary. "You don't need that kind of aggravation. Not…"

He swallowed hard and his eyes swiveled to her tummy.

"Not now."

The thought was exasperating to Mary. Not now, nor had she ever been, some sort of head case that couldn't keep her emotions under wraps. Being pregnant didn't change that. It didn't turn her into a bundle of vulnerability – someone who was going to burst into tears at the drop of a hat. Yet she knew that thwarting Marshall's concern would make him feel bad. He didn't need any more of that.

"It was nice of you to think of me," she said instead. "But I'm fine. Really. I didn't come out here to just sit around. I came because I thought you could use the help."

She could tell by his eyes he hadn't expected her to say such a thing. But she could also tell he was touched. She hoped it wouldn't make him cry.

"Marshall, just talk to me," she pleaded, leaning forward onto her knees, elbows resting there. "You don't seem yourself and I wouldn't expect anything less after what you've been through, but you practically patented deep discussions. This is likely a once-in-a-lifetime offer so I'd answer wisely," she gave him a mischievous half-smile, raising her eyebrows, just hoping to see him grin.

He stared at her, but it was with more scrutiny now, as if he couldn't really figure her out. So, she was throwing him off the mark. That was something.

"He looked different."

Brow furrowed as though in bewilderment, Marshall was looking past her now. Mary sat up, off her knees so they were face-to-face again.

"Different how?"

"Just…different. Stilted. Pale," his eyes traced the patterns of fireflies sparkling in the grass. "Fake."

The last word was forced from him like bile – like it made him sick to even say it, to think it. Reflecting on the descriptors, Mary was brought to a memory of her own. She pulled her hair back with the three fingers on her right hand, swooping it up and over her forehead, creating a strange crimp she never would've affected in front of others. But it was just Marshall. It was dark and it was hanging in her eyes, making her neck hot.

"You know, after my dad left," she began. "I didn't see a picture of him for like…" a shrug. "Well, until he ended up on AMW and they were flashing his mug shot all over the nation."

Marshall nodded, trying to drain his beer even though it was already empty.

"I just…couldn't fathom that being him," Mary remembered her first time seeing it as though it were yesterday. "He didn't look anything like I remembered. I had him stuck in the…white button-down, navy pinstripes that he was wearing the day he left."

Knowing Marshall didn't know how to respond, she put her arm around his back, lightly fingering his arm on the opposite side, tracing random designs. After a moment, he pulled his own arm out and did the same, letting his hand rest on her knee.

"But you know…I like thinking of him that way. Screw whatever the hell he became after. If you can only remember the crap…what's the point of having any memories at all?"

Marshall sighed, but it was more contented than before. She hadn't forgotten he was running on zero sleep – also a factor. Wanting to see his face, she snaked her arm back to her side. Thinking she'd wanted to dispense with the contact, Marshall let his hand fall to the pavement, off her knee. Mary wanted him to understand that wasn't her motivation, but she had better things to say for once.

"It's nowhere near the same, Marshall. Your dad was a law-abiding citizen who put away dirt bags like my old man."

He was about to compensate for her having to insult her father, about to say he was sure it wasn't like that, but he didn't get a chance.

"Don't let that prettied-up version of your dad be the way you see him," she insisted. "Remember him however you want – how he really was. I know Seth would want that."

"Thanks," he whispered. "I know what's rational, I guess I'm just…having trouble letting it mold," he sighed once more.

Mary could practically feel her bones aching in his grief. He was so unhappy and she knew he was thinking even more than he was letting on, but she felt grateful he'd let her in even just a little bit. Throwing caution to the winds, she wrapped her arm back around him, pulling his furthest bicep her direction to let his head rest on her shoulder. There, she let her fingers tickle his back, running her nails up and down with no real direction.

She just let him sit for awhile, strange shadows from the porch light casting them in a mystical half-cloudiness. Lightning bugs blossomed in the tall grass, cicadas singing their songs in the bushes.

"Look at your belly," he said unexpectedly from beneath her.

Unsure what to say to the comment, Mary decided to prompt further response.

"What about it?"

"It's bigger than I remembered," he stated bluntly.

"Such a gentleman," she giggled at the brazen way he'd commented. But Marshall was a smart guy; he knew he had to take advantage of Mary's compassion while he had the chance.

"It's a pain in the ass, you know," she continued. "I keep bumping into things. And I am gonna get snowed for missing my dress fitting this afternoon; Brandi's likely to stick me a Mumu."

Marshall actually laughed then. It was a half-hearted at best, completely fatigued at its worst, but Mary was glad to hear it just the same.

"Why the sudden curiosity?" she couldn't resist poking a little. And she knew the fascination wasn't sudden – just the fact that he'd finally voiced it aloud, per Mary's request that he pretend she didn't have an enormous bump jutting out in front of her, much less that it was an actual person.

"Don't know," he murmured. "All the kids around. Just makes me think."

It was Mary's turn to sigh. The way he hesitated before the second phrase confirmed her suspicions about what he was thinking. He'd be thrilled if Mary kept the baby. Why not? He adored Mary; he'd adore her child too. But she couldn't and she couldn't promise him something she wasn't.

"About the future…and everything. You know?"

She hadn't expected him continue but tonight, she just needed to keep him even and content. So she let her hand crawl to his hair, head still on her shoulder. There, she gave it a hard rumple – affectionate but defiant – and answered his remark.

"I know."

**A/N: Please review if you've got a minute! I would love it!**


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: Thank-you for the couple new reviews! It does my heart good and I have been trying to lend more reviews myself! Gotta return the favor, right? Here's the next installment…hope it's enjoyed.**

XXX

The next morning dawned bright and sweltering. Mary's room was stuffy and she opened a window as she dug for the house slippers Carolyn had left for her. She'd get dressed after she figured out what Marshall was up to today – the day before the funeral. She was bound and determined to help him, no matter what he said. She was starting to understand his frustrations with her when she refused to let him aide. It was maddening.

He was already downstairs when she arrived, still in her pajamas. Carolyn was nowhere in sight, but Marshall was practically inhaling a cup of coffee and trying to read the paper but she could tell by his eyes he wasn't taking in a word. He was dressed but his shirt was wrinkled and he wasn't wearing the belt he always had on to adorn his jeans.

"Morning," he grunted from behind the paper.

Letting it slip to nod at his friend, Mary was startled to see that he looked even worse than she expected. She'd seen skeletons with a brighter complexion.

"Morning," she said uncertainly, stepping closer to him. He folded the paper, putting it next to the sugar bowl and continued gulping his coffee. Mary tried not to inhale; even the sniff of the beverage made her nauseous.

"How are you?" he asked politely.

"I'm fine-," she cut herself off, deciding it was pointless to pretend he didn't look like a walking ghost. "Marshall, did you get any sleep? You look terrible."

"I'm fine," he cleared his throat, repeating her, and practically choked on the scalding coffee. He reached to pour himself another cup.

"Did you get any sleep?" she reiterated, slower this time, splaying her hands across the counter he stood behind. She was trying to get him to look at her but he wouldn't do it.

He hesitated only for a minute.

"I needed to get the paperwork together for the coroner's office and consult with the people at the cemetery…"

That was his way of saying no. The thought made Mary's heart race unexpectedly.

"Okay Marshall, this has got to stop," she ordered, shoving away the muffin he delivered her from a batch cooling on the stove. "You have _got_ to get some rest. You're exhausted; you won't be able to function!" her voice rose a little hysterically in her desperation to make him understand.

"I've got it under control," he said, sounding like a robot.

"What are your brothers doing?" Mary demanded. "Are they helping you at all? Your mother is doing her part but Griffin and Julian…"

"I'm the oldest," he stated automatically. "It's my responsibility."

"I don't care!" she exploded. "You're going to make yourself sick. Do you think Seth would want that? I doubt he'd take real favorably to a living zombie in the front row at his funeral."

Marshall scowled at the comparison and took another dreg from his coffee. Mary snatched the muffin he'd offered her angrily and took a hostile bite, still frowning.

"Don't get so worked up," he said suddenly. "Not good – with this business," he made a circular motion with his fingers, drawing an imaginary ring around her belly.

Mary let slip an infuriated sigh, actually spewing a couple bites of muffin onto the counter; she was so emphatic. Wordlessly, Marshall handed her a paper towel from a cylindrical contraption and she wiped it up, crossing the room to toss it in the garbage. It was a good excuse really. Now that she was on his side she could get in his face.

"Marshall, listen to me," she began, stepping so close they were almost touching. She was strangely short without her heels, the man noticed. But then again, he was tall.

"You need to slow down and take some time to grieve. Except for the other night…"

Marshall made shushing sounds, pressing his hands toward the floor to get her to downplay the incident. Mary cast him a puzzled look and then followed his line of vision to the yard where his mother was weeding the back garden.

"She's your mother and your father just died; she's not going to care if you got upset," Mary hissed, more annoyed by the second.

"I can't fall apart when there are things to be done. My mother needs me to do what my father can't anymore," he told her. His tone remained impassive, but Mary could see him tensing up. At least she was getting a reaction.

"Get Griffin and Julian to help you!" she was trying to keep her voice down as he asked but unsupportive, hapless siblings were a touchy point with her – one she couldn't resist beating into the ground at every opportunity.

"Mom didn't ask for their help; she asked for mine…"

"That doesn't matter!" Mary shouted.

"Everything matters!" he shouted right back, much louder than Mary was expecting and she actually staggered backward she was so surprised.

She could see him breathing hard, his face a mask of anger – fury and rage the likes of which she never saw painted on Marshall's sensitive features. It made him look older; more scarred, although the fact that he hadn't slept in over forty-eight hours could be a contributing factor.

Behind it though, she saw a quiet desperation and yearning and that's when it clicked.

_Everything matters. Everything you think, feel, but most of all everything you do. It all counts._

Mary was so busy reflecting on her sudden epiphany, she hadn't noticed his expression change. The ache took over and he sighed, shoulders falling. He ran a hand over his eyes; she could see the weariness etched in every line of his face.

"I'm so sorry," he mumbled, muffled behind his hand. "I shouldn't have yelled at you."

"I yelled at you," she muttered, crossing her arms over her middle and attempting to look tough. She usually didn't have to force such a thing.

"But I just told you not to get riled up – and you shouldn't; it isn't healthy…"

"Marshall, I can take care of myself," she reminded him with an irritable wave of her hand. And then, "Look…"

She stepped toward him again and laid a hand on his forearm. His eyes followed it at first, and then jumped back to her gaze.

"What are you supposed to do today? Let me handle it. I understand if you don't trust Griffin and Julian to deal with it up to your standards – believe me, I get that."

Before he could interrupt or ward away the offers, she kept right on speaking.

"But where are you going this morning? I'll take a cab to town and do what needs to be done. No different than work, right? You let me get my paws on your precious files."

She waited for him to weaken, to resign himself to some assistance, hand still on his arm.

"You can't," he finally said with a sigh.

He could see her getting abrasive again and hurried to explain.

"It's papers I've got to sign. Unless you can duplicate my John Hancock, we're out of luck."

"Okay…" she conceded but her mind was already working a mile-a-minute trying to figure out how to forge Marshall's signature so he could get some sleep. Before he crashed the car falling asleep at the wheel.

"What about this afternoon?" she wasn't ready to give up yet. "I know you've got something going on; I heard you talking about it yesterday with Griffin – time, place, all that stuff."

He hesitated; he looked to be on the verge of speaking but something was holding him back. He really wanted to give her the opportunity to help since she seemed to want to so badly but there were some things Mary just wasn't built for. They were few and far between but they existed just the same. There was no such thing as Superwoman.

"I don't think that's such a good idea," was what came out of his mouth.

"What?" she was jabbering. "What? Just tell me and I'll do it."

He cast her another skeptical glance, shaking his head just picturing the scene. He'd owe her for the next lifetime.

"Marshall, give it up," she said, snapping her fingers. "Don't make me get my gun."

"They let you on the plane with that?" he wrinkled his brow, perplexed that she had managed to get it through security and even more confused as to why she'd bring it in the first place.

"I'm a Federal Marshal. Between this," she waved a hand at her stomach. "And the badge; they couldn't say no. So tell me where I'm headed this afternoon. I'll need to dress accordingly."

She made for the stairs, trying to ward him off the idea of declining her offer another time. Once she was back around the counter again, she flashed him what she hoped was an innocent, obliging look.

"Come on," she whispered. "What are you supposed to do?"

He sighed one last time, knowing he could hide it no longer.

"I'm supposed to take the kids to the park to play kickball."

**A/N: I hope this isn't going to be TOO terribly cliché! I am definitely writing fics where I have characters do things I would not necessarily want to play out on the actual show. So, you never know!**


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: I own nothing related to In Plain Sight**

XXX

If it were anybody but Marshall.

This was what Mary told herself over and over and over again as she stood behind the chain link dome at the park, watching Sarah, Sophie, Daniel, Quinn, and Claire throw the kickball to one another, waiting for their designated baby-sitter to split them into teams.

How exactly did she do this? She didn't even have decent clothing to parade around in. She'd resorted to jeans that were fast becoming too tight and a shirt borrowed from Marshall – an old one, the Marshal logo printed in faded blue against the white. As for her feet, she knew better than to don her usual boots and was lent a pair of – God forbid – flip-flops from one of his sisters-in-law. It didn't exactly matter anyway. Marshall had told her not to run the bases so many times he was practically blue in the face. As if she'd consider it.

So she hid behind her sunglasses, trying not to scowl at the group of children, who kept glancing her direction for approval. They hadn't exactly been thrilled with the change in plan either, pouting about the loss of Uncle Marshall for the afternoon.

The arrangement was for Mary to take the kids to the park, frolic until about 3:30 and then either Griffin or Julian would arrive to pick up the group and take them back to Carolyn's. Somewhere on the way home, one of the brothers was supposed to drop Mary at some shop-front in town so she could grab an outfit for the services the next day, leaving Marshall to pick her up there once he finished whatever it was he was doing. Mary sincerely hoped it was getting in a good nap.

However, she'd been dressed before anyone else was ready to go, and so she slipped off in a cab to the store while Marshall was down at the funeral home with Carolyn. That way, he could get some more sleep if he ever succumbed and wouldn't have to worry about picking her up later. Her chosen outfit for the service wasn't atrocious – the best she could do in her current state.

Running over all of this in her mind, Mary realized her group of heathens was getting a little antsy. She knew it to be so when Daniel hollered from the pitcher's mound.

"Are we gonna play or what?"

Mary groaned; the space between her big toe and second itched from the flip-flops. It was too hot for this kind of aggravation.

For Marshall. For Marshall. For Marshall.

Slowly, she ventured out from behind the safety of the chain link and approached the Mann gang.

"We could," she said. "Depends on how you want to do this."

Okay, rule number one. They were kids. Not witnesses.

"How we want to do this?" Daniel raised his eyebrows. For an eight-year-old, he was pretty sharp. "Haven't you ever played kickball before?"

"I might've, in my day," she answered, sticking her hand on her hip. "So we pick teams, right? Get that out of the way first?"

"Uh-huh," he said with a nod. "But we don't have enough people."

"What?" Mary wrinkled her nose in confusion.

"He means it's not even," Sarah, the dark-haired twin translated. "Only three on two."

"Uh, hello?" she said, feeling slightly nettled not being counted, even by a group of rug rats. She ran an arm up and down her figure, as if they needed a better look. "You think I can't handle this?"

"Uncle Marshall said you couldn't," Sophie chimed in, bouncing on the balls of her feet. "Cause you're having a baby."

Jesus God. The man didn't quit.

"Well, I got news for you sister," Mary pointed a threatening finger and then, seeing how big it was just in shadow across the dusty dirt, decided she needed to reign herself in a little.

She cleared her throat and tried to tone it down just a smidge.

"Your Uncle Marshall worries about me too much. I'm good to go."

But was she really? For a little rough-and-tumble, maybe, despite Marshall's protests. But for an afternoon with a gaggle of children? She'd have to ponder that one a little harder.

"Daniel and I are going to be on the same team!" Quinn piped up. "Boys versus girls!"

"But then we get Claire," Sophie whined, stamping her foot in the dirt. "And she can't even kick straight!"

"I can so!" Claire stood on tiptoe to get in her cousin's face, all righteous indignation. "Maybe it's 'cause Daniel can't throw the ball right!"

Mary had to laugh at this display, but covered it quickly and knew better than to let it get much further. Otherwise she'd have a bunch of squalling cats on her hands and that wasn't her idea of a fun afternoon. Neither was the supposedly more appealing prospect, but just the same.

"All right sluggers," she stepped between Claire and Sophie; Claire staggered backward and crossed her arms, scowling. "Men on women sounds fair to me. I'll bat for the guys so they'll have an even three."

"Works for me," Daniel stood from his spot; he'd been sitting on the ball. "It's not like you're really a girl anyway."

Mary raised her eyebrows at the kid, wondering if she ought to have a word with Julian about his mouth but then decided it was kind of endearing. At least he knew how to take care of himself. Wasn't afraid to hold his own against some strange woman he barely knew.

"Cheers," she decided on. With that, she snatched the ball from his fingers and bounced it in the dirt. A cloud of dust flew up, nearly choking her. Bad idea in this heat.

"Ladies first," she said to the three girls. Sarah and Sophie giggled, undoubtedly at the fact that Mary was counting herself as a boy, but scurried off to home plate to kick first, Claire practically running her legs off just to keep up.

Thus ensued one of the most bizarre afternoons Mary had experienced to date. She felt like a herder just trying to corral the five of them at first. They screeched at each other, the twins complained about the pitches and Daniel called them names when they didn't get any hits. Quinn mostly bounced around in the field and Mary suspected he might've been chewing on the grass out of boredom when they couldn't strike out the girls. She couldn't help wondering how differently their afternoon would've gone with Marshall in the mix. A lot more laughter and a lot less crabbiness, she could guess.

But then, around the fourth inning (she was beginning to lose track) things started to pick up a little. Daniel smacked a spectacular kick into right field which Sophie almost caught and Mary could tell he was impressed against his will.

"Nice one, lead foot!" Mary called from home plate while Daniel grinned on second base, straddling the bag to make his sprint to third.

Now it was Quinn's turn. His face was shining with sweat; he kicked his feet in the dirt like a real player, eyes glinting in anticipation.

"Knock this one out Q," Mary hissed in his ear, crouching so she was on his level. "We gotta catch up to those girlies."

"Don't worry," he said knowingly, tongue sticking out the side of his mouth in concentration.

Mary grinned as Sophie sent the ball bouncing down the pike; thumping along, it emitted clouds like smoke, sucking the dust from the ground. Quinn ran, foot at the ready, and swung with all his might.

Mary was shocked to see it go careening through the air, into the gap in left field, Sarah running madly to try and grab it. Quinn seemed so surprised himself that he forgot to run.

"Run!" Mary hollered.

"Quinn, run you moron!" Daniel bellowed on his way to third.

Unfortunately, the delay cost him. Daniel was only able to make it to third without going home and Quinn had to stop at first, tottering excitedly on the bag, thrilled with his accomplishment.

Now what? Mary hadn't been needed to bat before now; the girls had gotten three outs so quickly on Daniel and Quinn in the prior innings; they'd just taken turns. But now they were both on base and somebody had to bring them home. Her feet were practically burning against the dirt, the air hung in high anticipation. Mostly she just longed to do something she knew she wasn't supposed to. Feel like the old Mary again.

But Marshall's words came back to her and she knew better than to get herself in too much trouble. He'd feel awful if anything happened to her – even if it was miniscule.

"Hey Claire!" she called while Sarah threw the ball into Sophie.

The littlest came running, pumping her arms and landing in an ungraceful halt at Mary's feet. Something about this one was intoxicating to Mary. She was the smallest, the most picked on, chosen last, forgotten. And yet she pressed on. She never quit. Small but mighty.

"What do you say you pinch-run for me?"

"What's that?" she asked, looking so suspicious it was amusing.

"Well your Uncle Marshall doesn't want me racing around. Since I'm having a baby and all," she reminded her, unable to keep her eyes from rolling. "So I kick and you run. Sound legit?"

Claire shrugged.

"Okay."

When the two older girls saw Claire standing at the plate, they started squawking their disapproval, not quite grasping the concept that their cousin wasn't switching teams – just being Mary's legs. Eventually, Mary managed to talk them down and they conceded.

"All right, girly," Mary said under her breath as Sophie sized-up the pitch. "You sprint like your life depends on it."

She grinned and nodded - a fresh determination on her face. It wasn't until that moment that Mary realized how much she wanted the little girl to score the run.

"Like Uncle Marshall?" she inquired suddenly, scuffing her shoes in the dirt.

"Is he fast?" Mary found herself asking back.

"_So_ fast!" she declared. "He said he has to be 'cause he catches bad guys like grandpa."

Mary smiled against her will just thinking about the hero-worship these kids placed into Marshall. Griffin had been right, really. With Seth's passing, they needed that more than ever.

"Here it comes!" Mary shouted as she saw Sophie release the ball.

Knowing her toes wouldn't thank her for the effort, the ball jounced down the pike and Mary swung her foot back – feeling the resounding thud with the contact, nails stinging with the kick and saw the ball go sailing over second base, out of Sarah's reach.

"Run! Claire – run! Go!" she instructed her little protégée.

Claire took off and Daniel was rounding the bend; he slid into home even though the ball was nowhere nearby, flushed with his victory. He stood up and dusted off his shorts and immediately turned his attention to Quinn and Claire, who were still trying to stay ahead of Sarah, fast returning with the ball.

"Quinn run!" he hollered, bouncing up and down.

"Go Quinn – fast, go-go!" Mary was shouting too, heart racing in the excitement. She didn't even stop to think about what a change of character it was; so caught up in the moment.

Quinn almost fell onto home plate trying to make it and Daniel let out a strangled cry of triumph.

"YEAH!"

He pulled his cousin from the ground and smacked him on the back, dust flying everywhere.

That just left Claire, barely staying ahead of Sarah, who was clearly reluctant to throw the ball and tag her out for fear of losing the target all together. Instead, she just tried to catch up.

"HURRY CLAIRE!" Daniel bellowed.

"Come on Claire!" Quinn was leaping from side-to-side, hanging all over Daniel trying to bring his cousin home.

"You can do it Claire!"

And there was Mary, joining right in. And she felt something then – seeing Claire's little face blazing with resolve, all grit and determination, pooling all of her willpower into reaching home plate. A four-year-old who, without effort, lived in the moment. All that mattered was making it – for who knew what reason. Because her brother and cousin wanted her to? Because she was the youngest, the smallest, and she never did anything right? Because it was simply fun to win and taunt her older twin cousins for once? All that and more – so simple and yet so satisfying all at once.

And she dived, belly-flopped actually, right onto the diamond – just ahead of Sarah who heaved the ball in a last-ditch attempt to catch her.

"Safe! Safe! She was safe!" Daniel declared, pumping his fist in the air and yanking his sister to her feet. "Claire, you were awesome!"

Mary was alight with happiness as she untangled the little one from the high fives to give her a solid pound, which she accepted at once, pure joy shining in her four-year-old face.

"Mary, I did it!"

Mary laughed and gave her a hearty pat on the back.

"You sure did."

**A/N: I hope this wasn't too cheesy! By the way, the little description at the beginning of where everyone is and what time people are supposed to be picked up does matter for the next chapter – just that one – but thought I should point that out. Thanks for those who have reviewed and those who will in the future! ;)**


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N: I am so glad you guys liked the last chapter! I was worried it was too corny! Don't worry…none of that in this one!**

XXX

Griffin showed up at the field around 4:00, by which time Mary was grateful. She was getting tired and her feet were starting to hurt. These kids wore her out more than a good throw-down. If Marshall had been there, he would've attributed her fatigue to her current condition – being with child and everything – but Mary only looked at it as a minor hampering.

Griffin approached the field and greeted Mary with a wave while the kids practiced kicking, Daniel showing the twins how he got such a higher rebound than they did.

"Hey," Griffin said. "How's it going?"

Mary gave him the once-over behind her sunglasses and could tell he was doing the same. She doubted very much whether either Griffin or Julian was very keen on the idea of her spending an afternoon with their children but they must've trusted Marshall's instincts enough to go with it.

"Sweltering," she answered just to throw him off. "Is it always this hot?"

"You're from Albuquerque, right? Shouldn't you be used to it?"

"I'm not _from_ Albuquerque; I live in Albuquerque," she corrected him.

"Nonetheless," he interrupted. "It's gotta be worse down there than it is up here."

"How are you making the comparison? Have you ever visited Marshall down there?"

She said it on purpose. Her own way of telling him he needed to shape up and be of some help to his brother or he'd have someone with a loaded gun to answer to. Griffin seemed to sense what he'd talked himself into and shifted uncomfortably, hands going to his pockets.

"How'd things go here?" he asked, quick to change the subject. "I hope the kids didn't run you too ragged."

"They're a tough brood," Mary answered truthfully. "But don't worry. I wore 'em down."

She didn't really have a lot of desire to confide her better-than-expected-experience with Griffin, despite the fact that it was three of his kids that had contributed. She'd save it for Marshall; someone she knew would appreciate it more. She'd have to phrase it carefully though; couldn't have him thinking one afternoon with a bunch of heathens meant her whole world had turned around just because a couple of ankle-biters.

"By the way," Griffin interjected. "I won't be able to drop you at the store-front after all…"

"I went already," she reported. "This morning while Marshall was at the funeral home with your mom."

Although, she was both curious and a little put-out already, just wondering what excuse he'd planned to use for having to get out of the detour. Marshall sure had gotten the work ethic in this family. She realized it was something he'd gained from Seth and she made a mental note to tell him that later. It might boost his spirits.

"Well, that's good," Griffin was saying in response to her dismiss. "Cause if you'd been there now we'd have had a problem."

"Why's that?" she asked, sticking a hand on her hip and squinting even with her sunglasses on.

"There was a hold- up – a robbery. Guns drawn. The guy took off; the local PD is still looking for him."

She realized if Griffin hadn't been late and she _hadn't_ gone that morning, she would've in fact been there during the proverbial, 'stick 'em up.'

"Jesus…" she muttered, shaking her head, slipping the sunglasses into her hand. The chaos, it followed her everywhere. She was half-tempted to grab her gun from under the seat in her car and go over to see what was happening. Then she remembered she didn't have her car and the thought of what Stan would say if he found out she was messing around in a case in Shawnee, Kansas stopped her – as did Griffin's next words.

"Marshall had to go over and see what's what…"

"Wait, what?" Mary interrupted, bringing her thoughts to a screeching halt.

"Yeah. The guy who did it is some punk – dad's been trying to nab him for a couple years now. When they found out he was familiar with the case they called, but…"

He shrugged; trying not to appear awkward over the fact that someone at the police department hadn't known his father was dead and could hardly come over to make an arrest. Mary found it a little off-putting herself. The whole precinct should know by now; she'd seen enough cops at the gathering the day she'd arrived.

"Anyway…Marshall was at the house and he decided to go down and check it out. I wasn't there so I'm not sure what happened; mom filled me in," Griffin finished.

Mary sighed and closed her eyes, feeling her jaw go rigid in frustration.

"He was supposed to take a nap," she said through clenched teeth, just knowing this little situation had prevented him from doing so.

"Tell me about it," Griffin laughed.

Then and there, Mary decided she needed to level with this guy. Marshall was running on fumes, barely able to hold his head up, taking care of everything that needed to be done and more. He needed someone to pick up the slack.

"Griffin, look…" she began.

But her words were cut-off by a squeal from Claire; Mary whirled around and saw her jumping up and down on home plate and pointing behind them to the parking lot.

"Uncle Marshall's here!"

Marshall was striding toward them, taking about six steps for every two of his normal ones. Mary quickly tried to rethink her little ambush on the brother, not wanting to embarrass Marshall unnecessarily.

"Hey, Marshall buddy!" Griffin waved from his spot next to Mary.

Marshall didn't wave back but continued his steadfast march and the closer he got, Mary saw that he looked frightfully awful – not lack-of-sleep awful, but drained with worry, completely frazzled. There was a scared, deer-in-the-headlights gaze on his face, like he'd seen a ghost. Mary knew at once that something wasn't right.

"Marshall…?" she murmured, more to herself than to anyone else.

Once she came into his line of vision, he broke into a quick jog, picking up the pace the further he got and before Mary knew what was happening, he was right in front of her – shaking her arms, hurling demands in her face.

"Are you okay?" he was practically shouting, his face fraught and pale with concern.

"What? Marshall, of course I'm okay-," she shook her head, bewildered, not used to his hands being so rough on her.

"Are you sure?"

"What…?"

"Dude, what happened?" Griffin was looking alarmed and that same scared-bunny look flitted across his features, the same one Mary had seen at the kitchen table the day before.

"Marshall, what's wrong?" Mary asked him calmly; his hands were gripping her forearms now, and his eyes glinted with a dangerous kind of fear. She'd never seen him like this.

"You…the store…you said you were going to the store around 3:45; I showed up and there was glass everywhere; that prick was nowhere in sight and neither were you!"

It took Mary a minute to figure out what he was talking about, her eyes probing his like a dim spotlight. This frantic Marshall was not computing with her halfway-decent afternoon with the kids, but then it clicked. He thought she'd been at the store when the hold-up had gone down. He thought something had happened to her – that she'd gotten hurt.

"Oh Marshall; I'm sorry – I went this morning while you…"

In all the excitement with the children, she'd completely forgotten to phone the house and tell him.

"I thought you…I thought…" he couldn't even string a coherent phrase together.

"Marshall, I'm fine…" she tried to rationalize with him, knowing that the fact he hadn't slept in nearly three days was completely clouding his judgment. He knew better than anyone if she'd been in a store during a robbery, she'd have clocked her glock and gone a few rounds with the burglar himself. He was delirious with exhaustion and overwork.

Griffin was looking at him like he might be sick, which wasn't helping. Mary ignored him and took Marshall by the shoulders, staring directly into his weary eyes.

"Marshall, look at me."

She wanted to make sure she had him before continuing, but he was someplace else – somewhere far away, breathing fast and furious, eyes flying left to right trying to assess her status.

"Look at me!" she repeated, louder this time. "Just take a breath…Marshall, just think…"

But that's when it happened. He broke. His strings severed, his seams tore out, and before she knew it he was a big weeping mess. The air filled with the sound of his miserable sobs; shoulders wracking uncontrollably as he heaved, tears streaming down his cheeks.

Mary acted fast, whirling around to face Griffin.

"Get the kids out of here," she ordered, blazing with a look of determination.

"What's wrong with him…?" Griffin was looking completely flabbergasted, but Mary didn't have time for his cluelessness.

"He's exhausted, you idiot!"

Not to mention completely miserable without having found the time to grieve. Griffin staggered at her words. Good. Maybe he'd start taking her seriously.

"Get the kids out of here," she said again. And when he didn't move, "Now!"

Griffin scurried to do as told. Mary knew in the back of her mind that, in a more rational state, Marshall never would've let his nieces and nephews see him a great, blubbering bundle of chaos. Even she knew they didn't need to witness that. Once she was certain Griffin had managed to herd them to the car and out of their line of vision, Mary focused on her partner, who now had his face buried in his hands, tears leaking through his fingers.

"Marshall, look at me," she said for the third time. "I'm right here – I'm standing right here; I'm okay."

She pulled his hands from his eyes so he could see for himself, holding his fingers firmly in hers.

"Okay?" she whispered.

Still sobbing, he yanked his hands free and threw his arms around her, enveloping her in a bone-crushing hug, crying all over the back of her shirt. He was gripping her so hard his nails were digging into her back.

"I'm right here," she would keep saying it until he understood. "I'm here; I'm just fine."

Sighing, she patted his back as well as she was able with his proverbial-Heimlich-maneuver. Until she heard his voice.

"Not you too."

He finally spoke, his tone laced with dread and sorrow as he contemplated what could've happened to his best friend.

"No, not me too," she reiterated calmly. "I'm okay. I'm here – alive, breathing, standing right in front of you."

Logical thought was something Marshall appreciated. She could give him that in his time of need. She felt him shudder against her, his shoulders shaking with the sobs.

"Oh Marshall, buddy…" she let a bitter laugh escape, taking a leaf out of Griffin's book with the nickname and continued to rub his back. "You need to sleep."

He didn't answer – perhaps he couldn't – but she kept right on talking.

"You know I'd never let some two-bit lowlife shoot me up in Hicktown Kansas."

Sometimes making jokes was all she knew how to do to deal with emotions this raw. Slowly, she tried to pull away from Marshall and guide him to sit down on the benches behind the chain-link dome before his knees gave out. It took quite a bit of effort for her to release herself from him, but she reminded him of her intention the whole time.

"I'm not going anywhere – let's just sit, sit down; there's a bench right here…"

Blindly, he obeyed and let Mary take his hand, steering him to do as she suggested. Once they'd managed to get down, she put her arm back around him and let him continue crying as he hung his head toward the ground.

And they just sat. For several minutes. Marshall weeping, Mary whispering reassures in his ear. And then Marshall spoke again.

"I'm never going to see him again."

A fist in the gut. Not about Mary anymore. His dad.

"No…" she whispered. "I know."

He let his head sink into Mary's chest, tears falling all over that ancient T-shirt he'd let her borrow. She ruffled his hair lightly, hoping it would soothe him.

"You said he loved me," he murmured thickly.

"Marshall, don't be stupid. Of course he did."

"But how do you know?"

Truthfully, she didn't. And Mary wasn't one to stretch that. She went on instincts and knee-jerk reactions and Seth, on first sight, had seemed cold and brooding and way too judgmental of a guy like Marshall. Just the same, she was a girl who remained convinced her father adored her and she hadn't seen him in thirty years.

Throwing caution to the winds, Mary laid a gentle kiss on Marshall's temple and whispered in his ear.

"Because how could he not?"

**A/N: I know it's sad, but it can only go up from here, right? Please review and thank-you so much to those that have!**


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N: Earlier posting today, but I will be in class all evening and wanted to get this up before then! Thank-you so much for the sweet reviews.**

XXX

After Marshall's meltdown had subsided a little, Mary wiggled his car keys out of his pocket and drove him home. She could think of a variety of reasons he shouldn't be behind the wheel and was prepared to list them in case he protested, but he didn't. He stayed quiet after the sobs trickled away, staring blankly out the window. Mary decided not to press him. Him crashing once was enough for the day and she was tired too.

Once they arrived back at the house, Mary made excuses for Marshall's gaunt features and half-dead demeanor to placate Carolyn and ease her mind. Then she maneuvered him upstairs to take a shower. He'd think more clearly once he was clean. Fresh and new – at least in part.

She listened to the running water for over an hour, sitting in the guest room and idly turning the pages of a magazine she'd found in a wicker basket stuffed in the closet. She sincerely hoped Marshall wasn't trying to drown himself. When she was interrupted with a phone call from Stan, she lost track of the minutes to fill him in on one of her witnesses.

"How's Marshall doing?" he asked, lowering his voice to a more somber pitch as the work-related chit-chat wrapped up.

"He's all right…" she answered uncertainly, unsure how much her partner would want her to reveal. "Working way too hard. I'm trying to get him to ease up but he won't listen."

"Gee, that sounds familiar," Stan joshed. Mary knew if she could've seen him he'd be smirking. "How 'bout you?" he continued before Mary could snap back. "How you feeling?"

"As well as any knocked-up broad could feel playing kickball with a bunch of rug rats in hundred degree heat," she sighed, spreading her legs out on the bed and leaning up against the headboard.

"I'm not following," Stan said, confused.

"I took Marshall's nieces and nephews to the park this afternoon," she clarified.

"I'm sorry, I…" she could hear the laughter in Stan's voice before he even started in. "I'm just trying to imagine such a scene. You did this? Can anyone confirm it?"

"Yeah, wise guy; several people," she was irritable from the warmth and her feet were sore. "You need a list?"

"I might," Stan chuckled, clearly beside himself with glee. "But I gotta tell you inspector, I am impressed. Amazing what love will do, huh?"

Mary felt every muscle; every fiber in her body go on high alert – goose bumps rising on her arms even though the evening was hot. Her neck started to sweat and her feet twitched anxiously. What was Stan thinking, making such a statement?

"What does that mean?" she tried to sound edgy but even she could hear the apprehension in her voice.

"Don't get yourself in a knot, Mary," he said. "Marshall's your partner, he's your best friend; you'd do anything for him, he knows that."

Well, if he didn't before, Mary hoped he did now. She prayed her excursion to his homeland had restored his faith in her loyalty. She still hadn't managed to quite unlock the mystery of why he hadn't confided his father's passing to her in the first place, but was more than willing to let it go at this point.

"Right," was all she said in response to Stan's proclamation.

"So…" he sighed, clearly sensing she was done with the touchy-feely aspect of the conversation. "Not to pull you guys out of a tough spot, but either of you know when you're en-route back to Albuquerque? Because I've got a stack of papers two feet high and I'm about ready to smash the water cooler to bits."

Mary smirked, knowing he was referring to Delia. She was kind, Mary conceded, but in the field and without Mary and Marshall to anchor her, her cheerfulness got out-of-control. Murderers and felons didn't exactly beg for sunshine and roses.

"The funeral's tomorrow," Mary reported. "I don't know about Marshall, but I can fly back tomorrow night if you need me to."

"Why don't you hang on another day?" Stan suggested. "Day after next?"

"Sure," she nodded, hoping she'd remember to check flight times later. "I'll talk to Marshall and see what his plans are."

A sudden knock on the door made her jump. She realized she hadn't heard the water in the shower for the last hour and wondered what had become of Marshall.

"Hey, I've gotta go," she relayed to Stan.

"No problem. Talk later."

"Yep," she jammed the off button on her phone and clasped her fingers around it before calling, "Come in!"

The door opened slowly, Marshall sticking his head around the corner as though he was going to catch her doing something indecent. Finally, he made his ascent all the way inside. Mary knew at once he must be embarrassed about what had happened earlier.

He looked slightly more fit and was wearing pajama pants with rocket ships printed on them, topped off with a navy T-shirt. His face was still sunken, still pale, but the shower had helped to smarten him up a bit. Mary was still wearing her jeans and the Marshal T-shirt, which was caked in dust; her feet were bare. Marshall lingered in the doorway for a moment before shutting the hatch behind him.

"I said come in," Mary tried to laugh to ease his mind a little. He smiled lazily and ventured to the bed, bouncing in and sitting cross-legged at Mary's feet.

An awkward silence fell. Mary decided it was up to her to break it.

"How are you, partner?"

She cast him a penetrating stare from her position against the headboard, willing him not to sugarcoat his feelings.

"Better," he nodded in would-be-confident way. "At least…a little."

"The shower help?"

A shrug, "Some."

Giving him time to say something else if he wanted to, Mary leaned over to put her Blackberry on the bedside table, noticing it was close to 6:30 PM from the digital clock. When she stretched back into her position, she felt a sharp stab to the right side of her stomach. It was just a kick, but harder than she was expecting and she winced without thinking that Marshall could see her. Seemed her own little offspring was starting to protest about her afternoon of leaping up and down.

"What?" he demanded immediately.

"What? Nothing," she said casually.

"You grimaced. Do you hurt?"

"Marshall, _stop_," she was overly emphatic on purpose, trying to shut him down totally and completely. "It was a kick and I'm fine. Junior here's just a little active after the day we had."

She waved a dismissive hand but kept her eyes on him the whole time. She wanted him to know she was serious about getting him to slow it down, but also certain she was okay.

"About that…" he began, but Mary cut him off before he could finish.

"Marshall, don't apologize for asking me to go. Don't tell me I'm fragile and weak and couldn't handle that brood. You needed a break and you should've got it."

Marshall seemed startled by the brazen way she made the assumptions, but then he softened and continued what he was going to say before she interrupted.

"I wasn't going to apologize," he said. "I was just going to say thanks. The kids had a really good time."

It was Mary's turn to be surprised. Both that the kids had any kind of fun at all and that Marshall had heard as much.

"They did?"

"If they can be trusted," for the first time in days, Mary saw the flicker of a real smile dance in his big, watery blue eyes. "You didn't…pay them to say that, did you?"

She fed him one of her better exasperated stares, but topped it off with a joke of her own.

"You know I'm too cheap for that kind of back-alley crap."

And then he laughed – the sight was strangely shocking on him, but also gorgeous all at the same time. It lit his eyes, making them sparkle and shine. It was like he was being reborn, starting anew, even if for a fraction of a second.

"Well, I don't know what you did," he held his hands out, palms up. "But they couldn't stop talking about it when I ran downstairs after my shower. Daniel and Quinn were thrilled with their victory but Sophie and Sarah said you let Claire switch teams in the middle?" he furrowed his brow, hoping for some clarity. "What's that about?"

"To pinch-run; she was my pinch-runner," Mary explained with a hasty roll of her eyes. After all that hem-and-haw with those twins, they still hadn't figured out what was going on.

"You don't mean to tell me you _actually_ did what I told you and refrained from running?" Marshall raised a skeptical eyebrow but it made his boyish features come alive again and Mary felt her heart singing in witness.

"Anyway," Mary continued to avoid having to admit she _had_ done as ordered. "Those matching peas in a pod cheered up later. I gave them some pointers and they got some runs of their own. No big deal."

Marshall still had a half-smile on his face, but then she saw the sadness creep back into his hallowed skin, shoulders sinking slightly.

"I wish I'd been there."

"Oh, no you don't," she laughed, a little louder than she meant to but went on, "I did have to run once – just to get the ball – but it wasn't pretty. Trust me on that."

He chuckled weakly and then averted his gaze to the bedspread, tracing the checks with his finger. Mary bit her lip in contemplation and after making her decision, reached out and touched his knee, still crossed Indian-style at the end of the bed. He looked up, but didn't speak. Following his lead, she slowly took her hand off the bend and turned it palm-up, indicating that he should take it. After a moment's hesitation, he did, clasping his fingers tightly in hers. Giving it a gentle tug, she got him to sit next to her at the top of the bed, left side. She nudged over to the right and kept his hand in hers, even after he was settled.

There was a long silence. Mary knew what was coming. She had to wait it out just to shoot it down.

"I shouldn't have fallen apart like that."

It had come.

"You needed to," she said honestly, meaning every word.

"But right there…with the kids…and I know better…" he shook his head in shame. "To think that you wouldn't have been able to take care of yourself if you'd been…"

"Marshall, you were scared," she looked right at him, so close she could see the stubble on his chin. "When you were shot, I was terrified."

She hadn't intended to admit that, but then figured he probably knew as much anyway.

"When you were shot I was terrified," he repeated in a low voice.

"Exactly," she slapped his leg for emphasis. "Exactly. And – hello – not to mention – you were hardly functioning. You haven't slept since God knows when. Your mind was basically mush."

He scoffed bitterly at that comment, but he didn't disagree.

"Besides," Mary continued. She didn't want to look at him for what she was about to say next. "It wasn't just about me. You miss your dad, Marshall. I get that."

Fairly assured he wasn't going to start crying again; Mary had decided it was okay to bring this out of the woodwork. They'd have to talk about it sometime and it was better once it had all been laid on the table already.

"I remember about a week after my dad left," she began, twirling her fingers through her hair as she done the evening out on the porch. "I was at school and this asshole Jared Simpkins threw a basketball at my head on the playground. It barely dinged me; I didn't even get a bruise."

Yet she could feel her temple smarting even as she retold the story, tingling in retrospect of something a lot more painful.

"But I wanted to kill him. I just came apart. Landed me in the principal's office. They had to call Jinx who didn't answer for two hours because she was out getting slammed at some bar in Newark. When she finally turned up half-conscious around 5:30…"

She swallowed; the recollection hurt more than she'd been expecting. But getting choked up wasn't in the cards. This was supposed to be for Marshall's benefit, not hers.

"I was numb. I didn't even give a shit anymore. I closed back down."

What should've come next stayed inside, unsaid, but Mary knew that was how she'd remained to this very day. Cut-off – distant. And she realized she couldn't let that happen to Marshall. She'd never be the same. And he wouldn't either.

With this thought came another realization and she flashed her gaze to Marshall's, who she could see was expectantly hanging on to every word.

"Marshall…" the tears hung in her throat but none fell. "Why didn't you tell me about your dad? Is it because you were afraid I'd run away? That I wouldn't be able to handle all the…sadness? Because of…the way I am?"

The phrase took her back to a dark, dusky, smoky barn – sweaty tank-tops and matted hair. A kiss on the cheek.

Marshall closed his eyes briefly and cleared his throat, sounding strangely businesslike.

"Yes," he finally said. "I thought the emotion would be too much for you. I know how you hate…hearts laid bare. And…dads…" he swallowed. "They're kind of a touchy subject for you."

Her eyes scanned his and a deep gratitude and also an enormous guilt cloaked her chest, making her feel heavy and trapped. He'd wanted her so bad he hadn't asked for her. He'd rather have her halfway than not at all. Past experience had told him Mary turned her back when things got too raw. She had only herself to blame for it.

"But…" Marshall was hurrying to rectify what he might've caused her to feel. "Mary, you proved me wrong. You came to me when I needed you most. I shouldn't have doubted you."

Mary sighed, mostly in relief. He could trust her. He said so. That meant even more than she'd anticipated it would.

"Marshall, lie down," she said softly, her tone strangely soft and ethereal. "Just for a little while. We can keep talking. Just…rest your eyes."

He was clearly a little taken aback by the abrupt change in subject, the way she pulled in the tears and stored them where they wouldn't drop. He was reluctant to obey – dinner would be ready soon and his mother was making grilled chicken. It was his favorite and she'd be disappointed if he wasn't there to eat it. But his muscles ached, his eyes itched; every bone in his body felt limp and ripped in two. And this bed, here with Mary, was soft – warm and comforting.

So he slid down, his head getting lost in the pillow, and eased his eyes shut. He could feel Mary's fingers fiddling in his hair, still slightly damp from his shower. He wouldn't give in just yet. She'd said they could keep talking.

"Tell me about your day," he murmured; Mary noticed he sounded a little more relaxed. "Tell me how your rug rat held up. Really."

Mary chuckled quietly – his concern stretched to the edge.

"Not bad," she said and then added a little more honesty, "I am tired, though. Kind of weird being so burnt out just from chasing around with a bunch of kids."

Mary sensed a factoid coming up about her changing body and hormones; why she couldn't quite run the way she used to, but it didn't arrive. Marshall made a serene, "Mmm hmm" and waited for her to continue.

"You know…"

She contemplated her afternoon a little more thoroughly, the baby making a comfortable rhythmic hum-drum in her lower belly now.

"Hanging with those kids…it didn't suck nearly as much as I thought it would."

A flicker of a smile on his aged face. She continued to tickle her fingers in his hair.

"It's that little one…"

Mary saw her face etched in concentration all over again as she pounded in toward home plate.

"Claire. Something about her…"

She saw another little girl with a face just as blazing, just as determined to win out and do her worst or die trying.

"She's fierce, you know? Like the world only turns if she's got two legs turning with it."

A little girl who had to scrape her way out of every tough spot and came out with claws flashing every time.

"I don't know…" Mary whispered, halting the pattern she was tracing through Marshall's hair, lost in thought. "Kids are so bizarre that way. They don't know how to quit unless someone tells 'em to. Jesus, just figure what we'd all be if some stupid grown-up didn't shut us down at every turn, dictating what we can and can't do."

It was resilience, she realized. And to think where the innocent pride could go if honed.

"Don't you think, Marshall?" she found herself whispering.

He didn't answer.

"Marshall?"

She let her eyes flicker onto his face and saw his chest rising and falling evenly with every breath, eyes closed, a faint whistle singing through his nose – fast asleep.

Mary smiled with a dim satisfaction and gave his forehead a tender, fluttering kiss. Then, still in her jeans and dusty T-shirt, her own rug rat beating its little feet inside her belly, closed her eyes and waited for the darkness to take her too.

**A/N: Not a ton of stuff happening in this chapter but – YAY! – Marshall falls asleep! It's also kind of a segue to the later chunk of the story to pull things together before the end. Please review if you get a second; thank-you so much to those that have!**


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N: You guys are awesome reviewers! Thank-you so much! But I still don't own IPS.**

XXX

Mary got less sleep that night, even though it contented her listening to Marshall breathe – she thought that was perhaps why she couldn't doze off; she enjoyed the rhythm so much it was keeping her awake. She finally slipped off around 1:30 but was up at six, when the dawn was just peeking out over the treetops in the distance, the sky streaked with shades of pink and red. Marshall was still snoozing peacefully, in almost the exact same spot he'd been in when he'd crashed. Mary was still wearing her clothes from yesterday and she'd passed out against the headboard without lying down. Trying to stretch and not wake Marshall at the same time, she carefully got off the bed but the minute her feet hit the carpet her back stabbed in protest.

"Ah…" she moaned instinctively and instantly regretted it, not wanting Marshall to stir. After taking a deep breath, she lifted herself the rest of the way and powered through the pain to the bathroom, wondering if her bladder was going to burst before she got there.

It wasn't until she left the bathroom, unsteady on her feet, that she realized she didn't really feel very good. Her muscles ached and she was slightly queasy, which didn't make a lot of sense since neither her or Marshall had-had dinner the night before. Chalking it up to fatigue from yesterday, she was about to go back to bed when she heard a buzzing coming from Marshall's bedroom – like a phone.

She crossed the hall and slipped through the door and immediately saw his cell lighting up on the dresser, vibrating and throwing a bluish light onto the horses printed on the wallpaper. She glanced to the caller ID and felt her heart leap into her throat.

Abigail.

She hadn't given the girlfriend a second thought since the night she'd arrived. Marshall hadn't said a word about her and Mary had taken his lead although truthfully, Nancy Drew hadn't even crossed her mind. Nosy to a fault, Mary snatched the Blackberry, identical to hers, and decided to answer.

"Hello?" she whispered, careful not to disturb Marshall or his mother in their rooms.

There was a long pause, but Mary could hear Abigail breathing on the other end of the phone. Knowing she probably hadn't recognized her voice with the whisper, Mary was suddenly starting to realize how this looked and hurried to cover up.

"Abigail, it's Mary," she continued.

"Oh, Mary!" a relieved laugh sounded from the detective. "What are you doing up at this early hour?"

Mary wasn't in the mood for chit-chat, especially not with Abigail, but she answered anyway.

"On my way back from the bathroom," and truthfully at that.

"Ah," the other female said. "Well, maybe you can help me. I'm looking for Marshall."

That much was obvious, Mary thought.

"I haven't heard from him in days. Is he with you? I'm just getting a little worried about him," she asked in her chipper Southern twang.

Now she'd stuck her foot in it. Mary supposed that was what she got for poking her nose where it didn't belong, but what was she supposed to say at this point? Marshall clearly hadn't confided his father's passing in Abigail – for who knew what reason – and she wasn't going to blow that secret without Marshall's permission. Lying was a much better choice.

"We'll we're…on assignment," she fumbled quickly. "You know, bad cell reception, tricky prisoner. Doesn't leave a lot of time for phone calls," she was suddenly thankful for having a job where people knew not to ask too many questions.

"Well, I called Chief McQueen and he said the same thing," Abigail answered.

Mary sighed a little too loudly. Bless Stan for understanding they would need a cover story.

"I was just hoping Marshall was okay. I understand if he's got himself tangled up with an unlawful – I know all about those," she laughed again. The noise made Mary feel faintly sick again.

"Yeah, well he's good," Mary wanted to wrap this up before she had to fabricate too many more tales. "But sleeping right now. And he's really jet-lagged."

Meaning she wasn't going to wake him up.

"Well, all right," Abigail sang, pleasant to a fault. "But tell him I called, will you?"

"Yes," Mary nodded into the phone even though Abigail couldn't see her and hung up.

Standing, bewildered, Mary tried to wrap her mind around what had just happened. Marshall hadn't spoken to Abigail in days. He hadn't told her he was leaving and he definitely hadn't told her why. Why would he do that? Even though he'd gone through the whole cloak-and-dagger thing with Mary, it sort of made sense. But Marshall was a forthcoming guy; he wouldn't keep something like this from his girlfriend. Evidently, he would.

Sighing, Mary placed the phone back on the dresser and headed back to the door but once she hit the threshold, she felt her knees wobble and she stuck out a hand to the doorframe to make sure she wasn't going to fall. Her stomach started churning, rolling in waves, and it wasn't until the bile creeped up into her throat that she registered it was best to run to the bathroom. Dropping to her knees on the linoleum, she heaved over the toilet, which made her chest hurt. It wasn't pretty – the lack-of-food made it so she didn't really have anything to throw up, so she mostly coughed and what came out was pretty gnarly.

Once she was convinced she wasn't going to hurl again, Mary slowly stood and wet her hands, wiping them on her face. She saw that she was pale and slightly sweaty now through the mirror over the sink.

"Shit," she murmured hoarsely, running a hand over her eyes.

Of all days to let her ever-changing body take over, it had to happen on the day of the funeral. She couldn't sit there and be a calming to presence to Marshall with her innards threatening to explode every five minutes. And what was this all about anyway? She hadn't been plagued by morning sickness for several weeks now. She tried to remain convinced it was just the events of the day before, and her uterus hollering in apt disapproval.

Pattering back to the bedroom, she hoped she'd be able to get some more sleep until all the hub-ub before the service began. In the back of her mind, she realized it was most unlike her to sleep for almost five hours and then want to return to bed for more. Her work ethic was going to be shot by the time she and Marshall got back to New Mexico. The thought didn't thrill her and made her feel weaker than she already did.

She ran smack into Marshall when she returned to the guest room; he was on his way out, looking a little rumpled but seriously well- rested. It sent relief flying from Mary's fingertips to her feet.

"Sorry," he stumbled when they bumped and she threw out a hand to steady herself on his shoulder.

"Hazard of the condition," she muttered, feeling particularly resentful toward her round belly this morning.

"You up already?" he asked, eyebrows narrowed in skepticism. And then, "Are you sick? You look funny."

She shook her head, shrugged, and tried to remain nonchalant as she pushed past him into the bedroom. He turned to watch her go.

"It's nothing," she said, taking a slow seat back on her side of the bed.

Her side? Oh, man.

"But are you?" he prodded, venturing back himself and sitting on the opposite side. "I don't want you going today if you're not feeling well. You need to relax; those kids probably put you through the wringer yesterday."

"Marshall, dispense with the hissy fit, okay?" she swung her legs back onto the bed and then realized for about the sixth time she was still wearing those stupid clothes she'd played kickball in, which seemed years ago. She'd meant to change before running into Marshall.

"Morning sickness comes with the gig. It's no big deal. Stop worrying."

He still didn't look convinced, but he kept quiet and nudged himself back on the bed beside her, settling into his pillow on one elbow to gaze up at her. She felt faintly as though she were in a spotlight, but she decided to leave him be.

Sighing softly, Mary splayed her hands on her tummy as though willing the one inside to settle down. She needed him – or her – not to make too much fuss today. Not when it was so important to be there for Marshall.

Unexpectedly, Marshall shifted off his elbow, leaned up, and pecked Mary's cheek. Her instinct was to smack him away, but then remembered she'd laid a couple kisses on him the last few days and they weren't quite even yet. Still, she suspected it had something to do with her less-than-stellar health and wanted to tell him not to coddle her.

"I'm fine," she insisted, locking eyes with him.

"It wasn't for that," he said, knowing what she was thinking.

"Then what was it for, doofus?"

He smirked slightly at the mention of his familiar nickname and shrugged, trying to downplay the smooch.

"For everything. You're here; you're helping me out – taking care of the kids, coming to the funeral…"

"Marshall, you already thanked me about sixteen times. It does get old after awhile."

"_And_," he interrupted. "I neglected to mention last night but Griffin said something about you…calling him an idiot?"

He was smiling but Mary felt some shame creep into her veins. She didn't need to get off on such a bad foot with his family. They were his business, not hers. However he wanted to handle them was up to him.

"I have to tell you, I will owe you for the next lifetime for that one," he chuckled. "Seriously slick, Mare."

She grinned against her will and giggled slightly too. Even though he wasn't angry – even pleased – she felt it was important to try to explain a little, even in part.

"Marshall, I just wanted him and Julian to man-up – grow a pair for God's sake - and give you a break. You don't have to do it all yourself; it was making you sick. You needed someone."

He was moved by her consideration, but also a little confused. He wasn't alone.

"I have you," he stated baldly.

He saw Mary go slightly pink, flush in her vaguely-pale cheeks and he felt a strange sense of satisfaction knowing he'd taken her out of her comfort zone. She'd certainly done as much to him these past few days – surprising him at every possible turn.

But the compliment had made Mary think of something completely different. He might be utilizing her comfort but he wasn't utilizing someone else's.

"Marshall," she said, suddenly serious.

She thought about glossing it over, but why bother? The truth was going to escape eventually.

"Abigail called."

"What?" he looked oddly guilty and his eyes left hers. "Why? When?"

"This morning. I heard your phone ringing from inside your bedroom. She was worried about you."

This was Mary's way of revealing that she knew he hadn't told Abigail the truth about where he was, what he was doing. She let him process the information; come up with an explanation without pressing him for more right away. What did she care if he fibbed to Abigail?

"Just so you know," she interrupted without meaning to. "I told her we were on an assignment together and Stan told her the same so she doesn't think there's anything, you know, illicit going on."

"You shouldn't have to lie for me," he remarked abruptly. "That's not why I…" he looked uncomfortable again. "Why I kept this from her."

"Then why did you?" Mary couldn't stop herself. "Marshall, I kind of hate to be a stickler here but if you guys stay together, she's going to figure this out eventually and she isn't going to be happy. I'm just not sure why you'd put yourself through the aggravation when you could get it out of the way now."

He sighed and sat up all the way, cross-legged by Mary's knees, hands hanging limply inches from her belly. He looked lost and a little tense – tight, almost. Mary hadn't meant to make him feel worse.

"Marshall, you're not a secretive guy," she whispered tenderly. "So what's going on?"

His eyes matched hers again, grabbing the rope to pull him to safety. A harbor – a port in the storm.

"Don't hate me for this," he said unexpectedly.

Mary was thrown, but shook her head to reassure him.

"Marshall, come on."

"I was afraid…" he paused. And then, "I was afraid if I told Abigail, she would want to come out here with me. And then you'd find out and I didn't think her being here with me was…a very good idea."

"Why not?" Mary prompted.

"I didn't want you to know we'd gone on a trip together," he muttered, gaze straying away from hers.

"Marshall, this is not a trip. You say it like it's a vacation. And even if it were, why would I care if she came with you? She's your girlfriend."

And even as she said it, Mary found that she did care very much. She tried picturing Abigail, sweet and sassy, parading around with Griffin and Julian, sleeping in this room, chirping at all those kids. The thought made her hot and prickly all over, even made her stomach stir uncomfortably again. She just didn't fit into the equation and, call Mary crazy, but she sensed Marshall had been thinking the same thing.

"I'm not sure she belongs here," Marshall admitted. "This happening…it's made me realize…"

He shrugged again; clearly uncertain as to whether he should go on. Mary's heart was fluttering dangerously against her ribcage and she prayed she wouldn't get sick again.

"Kind of made me realize a few things too," she whispered.

He looked surprised, but there was a hint of understanding there as well. They both knew then that nothing else needed to be said. Abigail could be dealt with at a later date. Today was about soldiering through together, holding hands as they remembered Seth and just trying to push back into the real world when it was all over – finding a way to move on.

As if on cue, Mary felt a quick, sharp thud in her belly and she gasped, mostly out of surprise.

"Jesus," she started and felt her hand jump to the spot where she'd felt the toes. She breathed deep, letting her hand rest there for a moment until the quivers died down.

"You okay?" Marshall wanted to know. His fingers were lying right next to her tummy, but Mary felt sure he hadn't experienced what she just had.

"Yeah," she said, a little breathless from the unexpected flicker. "Someone's doing a tap dance today. I guess he didn't get the memo that it's not a party."

Marshall smiled a little sadly, his eyes on her belly. She knew what he wanted and Mary had to pull in all of her strength, all of her resolve to give him the green light. She was not a Buddha or a spectacle on display. She was a fat, irritable pregnant woman, twenty pounds overweight with bloated feet to boot. There was no forgetting it, no denying it, and no matter how hard this kid staked his claim, she couldn't erase the decision she'd made.

Could she?

"What do you think, Marshall?" she asked, trying to stay casual. "Tap dancer or kickball fiend?"

And she curled her fingers around his wrist, placing them next to her other hand on the round. Marshall's hand trembled in anticipation as he waited, and Mary had to stifle the laugh that threatened to escape when she felt the sensation again, tiny toes against Marshall's palm.

Still, she had to admit – you couldn't put a price on the look on Marshall's face. Awe. Wonder. Joy.

He turned to Mary, expression plain and eyes brighter than she'd seen them in days.

"Dancer? Star kicker on the playground? Or just some nerd that's gonna use his fine motor skills to chop asparagus or something?" she prodded Marshall for a response.

He smiled and gave her belly the lightest of rubs, slipping his fingers briefly into Mary's as they rested next to his.

"Guess we'll have to wait and see," he said.

Mary's heart twittered dangerously at the words, but she couldn't answer. So she patted Marshall's hand as the rug rat continued to punch his feet like a resounding, steady drum.

**A/N: Hope you guys are enjoying the bonding that's escalating from Marshall's 'acceptance.' Don't worry about Abigail – just tying up some loose ends! Hugs for reviews!**


	13. Chapter 13

**A/N: I love all like crazy for the kind reviews! It does a writer's heart so much good!**

XXX

Mary's nausea subsided slightly with a shower and some clean clothes. She didn't see Marshall for most of the morning; he was downstairs with Griffin, Julian, and his mother, and they were trying to get the kids dressed for the service, straightening ties, tucking in shirts, fluffing hair.

Mary helped for a little while, trying to get lint off Claire's pleated black dress, tying the bow in the back and combing her hair because, "Sophie pulls it!" The gestures made her feel awkward and unsettled and she started to wonder if the day before had really happened – if she hadn't just dreamed up the whole experience to share with Marshall and lift his spirits.

After awhile, Mary had to leave the hellions and get dressed herself, make sure her hair was dry. Marshall was only half-ready, wearing his slacks and button-up, but he kept slipping in black socks, losing his jacket and the tie was nowhere to be found.

In the guest room, Mary contemplated the outfit she'd bought the day before – thankfully, prior to the hold-up. She'd actually considered getting a dress, a thought that sent chills racing up her spine. But she knew if she wore one she'd fidget uncomfortably all through the service which would not enable her to be a warm body for Marshall. Her attention was needed there and wearing a skirt of any kind would only distract her focus.

So she'd chosen a pair of black Capri pants and the simplest maternity top she could find. On the hanger, they all looked like circus tents and she'd debated for quite awhile. The one she came back with was also black, sleeveless with a few, very minor, tasteful ruffles down the front. She'd have to don the flip-flops borrowed from the sister-in-law once again because her feet throbbed from the day before and she didn't think she could get heels back on.

Once dressed, Mary decided she looked at least halfway decent and gathered a couple bobby pins from inside a dresser drawer, hoping Carolyn wouldn't mind if she borrowed them. She swept her hair back to the right slightly, pinning the clips crisscross on top of one another, keeping the strands off her face. Marginally satisfied, she went to find Marshall.

She knocked lightly on his door and entered. He was standing in front of a full-length mirror in the corner, fiddling agitatedly with his tie. His jacket lay folded over the end of the bed and his shirt-sleeves were rolled up, as they had been earlier when wrangling the kids.

"Hey," she whispered, not sure he'd heard her come in.

He whipped around as she was shutting the door and felt his heart stop. He hadn't expected her to wear a dress, but this was better. The pants hugged her hips and the top did a nice job of hiding her tummy, not that he really minded that. Pregnant women were beautiful; he'd always believe that. And right now, Mary glowed; light surrounding her honey-colored locks and full features. As she walked closer to him, he saw the pronounced belly a little more clearly beneath the ruffles and that she'd actually done something with her hair. It freed up her features, her green orbs bigger than ever in her slightly-rounder face.

"What?" she prompted, undoubtedly referring to the look of wonder in his face.

"No…nothing," he shook his head, knowing Mary wouldn't appreciate him gawking for too long. He loosened his tie with his fingers, trying to get the knot straight, but he couldn't turn back to the mirror. He was a man captivated.

"It's definitely something," Mary laughed slightly and took the tie herself, yanking it a little harder into its preferred spot. "You only look like that when one of the witnesses gives unpredictable testimony and 'accidentally' puts themselves away for twenty-five to life. Guess I'm just hoping I don't rate in the same category as felons."

"No," he shook his head again and noticed the tie looked perfect now. How had she managed that?

"Then…?"

"No, you just look…" Marshall paused, not quite sure how to phrase this to avoid getting a snappy comment in return about the size of her feet as well as her gut.

"Like a girl," he settled on. And then, with reckless abandon, "Very pretty."

Mary smiled without meaning to, without even thinking about why – softly and without her teeth showing – but it made her feel like a silly schoolgirl. An irresponsible one, she conceded, being six months pregnant and all. But as Marshall's words rattled through her mind, she felt her cheeks flush slightly with the grin as Marshall grabbed his jacket off the bed.

Part of her wanted to throw a remark completely the opposite of what he'd just said in his face, just to show him she was still Mary, but she decided against it.

"Thanks Marshall," she whispered.

She stepped his direction and un-buttoned the right sleeve of his dress shirt, unrolling it so he could put the jacket on. He seemed surprised by the gesture, but allowed her to continue. When she finished with the button at the bottom, he reached to do his other sleeve, talking to avoid an awkward silence.

"You feeling better?" he asked. "Since this morning?"

"A little," she replied truthfully, brushing crumbs from his breakfast off the front of the shirt – blueberry muffin. She was still slightly dizzy and her stomach was starting to cramp up with all the kicking going on, but all-in-all she was tip-top.

"Seriously?" he peered low into her eyes, wanting the honest answer.

She sighed, but then found herself laughing because he was so concerned. There was no stopping him if she tried.

"I'm a little tired," she admitted. "Sports, travel, and fat feet aren't a combination I'm overly familiar with. But you know me – I adjust."

She flashed him a mischievous wink and then a startling thought came to mind. Helping him get dressed, fooling with his tie, making him presentable and letting him compliment her appearance – not to mention the uncharacteristic batting of her eyelashes. Was she _flirting_ with Marshall?

Her surprise must've shown on her face, because Marshall touched her arm gently.

"Don't put up some façade on my account. If you need to stay home and rest, you do it."

He was so serious, but Mary shook her head.

"No dice, partner. You're not on your own on this front. I'll get my gun and follow you with my glock in your back if necessary."

He laughed and Mary felt her heart leap seeing his eyes shine with even a little bit of happiness. That would only decline with the day's events and she felt lucky she got to witness it.

"I was right in the first place," he grumbled, mock-pouting. "You're no girl."

She smirked as he made his way back to the other end of the room to check out his reflection in the mirror. It was an odd picture that suddenly struck Mary. Marshall, grown and strapping, standing in his childhood bedroom, cowboy bed perfectly made, the horses on the walls galloping to the ceiling, lassos and bandannas hung on the wall. Time and space didn't exist with Marshall. He was always in the here and now, solidly and dependably – be it in his past, in his present, or in his future. He stayed the same, never missing a beat, remaining fierce and loyal with every step.

"You know that façade thing…" Mary said softly, as Marshall had gone quiet. "Not that anyone actually says, 'façade' this side of the Atlantic…"

She found herself following him to the mirror and putting a hand on his furthest shoulder as his somber reflection stared back at them.

"It works both ways," she finished.

He sighed and closed his eyes, liking the touch of Mary's fingers on his arm. Warm pressure, comforting but full of strength he could draw from.

"I don't really want to do this," he lamented in a shameful voice. "It's trite and it's bittersweet and yet…"

He shrugged and Mary felt his shoulders shaking slightly.

"I know once it's over…it's done. Nothing left to do but go home and get on with it. I'm not sure I know how to leave him behind."

Mary slipped her hand off his shoulder and let it crawl onto his back, through the gap in his arm to the other side. She groped for his hand and felt it slide smoothly into hers. There was something a little trembly about his grip but he squeezed when he felt her fingers.

"You don't leave him behind," she whispered, leaning into his body so they were both visible in the mirror now. "It's a huge cliché Marshall, but he's here if you need him to be. Your memories, your photos, your job…he's here."

Still holding hands, she felt her fist bump something on Marshall's belt loop; in a place the jacket concealed the rungs. Even though the cotton, she knew it was his five point star – his Marshal's badge.

"He's here," she repeated with this realization. "And so am I."

**A/N: Sorry this one was a little shorter! But I hope you all liked it! I aim to please LOL! **


	14. Chapter 14

**A/N: I am so glad you guys are enjoying the story. I've decided to post two chapters this go-around because fourteen and fifteen were originally one chapter but then it was WAY too long. Except now fourteen is a little sparse LOL! So you get both!**

XXX

The funeral, thankfully, went without incident. It was held on the back lawn of a church in town, the breeze frightfully hot, but the expanse of grass was beautiful – rich, lush green beneath enormous oak trees which gave them some shade. And the cemetery was right next door, so they wouldn't have to go far once the service concluded.

Mary sat on the end of the front row next to Marshall, followed by Carolyn. Griffin and Julian sat behind them with their wives and the kids. Claire perched on Julian's lap, practically sliding off his knees, right behind Mary. She could hear the little one's breath in her ear; she didn't cry as Sophie and Sarah did, but she was paying rapt attention – more than could be said for Daniel or Quinn. Mary fought turning around a few times to get a look at her face. Clearly, she wasn't quite grasping the whole 'death' concept but she was hanging on to every word, trying her hardest to figure it out.

Mary took Marshall's lead as far as comfort was concerned. He did all right at first, tending to his mother who wept softly through most of the service. But when the minister started to talk about Seth's dedication to his work, how his job with the Marshal's had meant so much he'd actually named his eldest son after his title, Marshall started to choke up a little.

Silently, Mary reached over and put her hand on Marshall's knee and squeezed lightly. He allowed his palm to rest on top of hers as he looked down to regain his composure.

"Seth was a highly decorated officer," the minister continued. "And his eldest, so aptly named, followed in his footsteps."

Mary let a tiny smile escape, despite her partner's grief and felt a little more pressure on her hand.

"Last year, just before he retired, Seth told me how grateful he was to have a son that understood how much doing for others matters. Just like how everything you feel matters. Marshall…"

The minister turned to the man to whom he was referring; Marshall struggled to stay impassive, but held his head high.

"He said you learned more about action as well as compassion in unison than he ever did. I know how proud he was of you for following his example."

Marshall managed to nod before he couldn't really keep it together anymore. The minister seemed to sense he'd revealed enough and shifted his eulogy to Griffin and Julian. Mary barely heard those testimonials because she'd turned her attention to her partner, who was shedding tears onto his lap, dripping onto his and Mary's hands. She pulled hers free and transferred it around his back, guiding him in close so only he could hear what she whispered in his ear.

"You all right?" she murmured softly.

She felt him nod against her temple.

"He was proud of you, Marshall. He was proud of you," she whispered, her breath tickling in his ear. "Don't ever forget that. That puts you ahead of so many people; hang on to that. No matter what."

She kept saying whatever she could think of to make him see, to get him to accept his dad had believed in him, whatever his criticisms. Rubbing his back gently, she let her words drift away, into the wind, slipping silently out of sight. And eventually, he calmed, settled back into the service, and even cracked a few smiles for people's stories about his old man.

Once the funeral concluded, a second gathering took place back at the Mann's, not unlike the first one that had been going on when Mary had arrived. More food, more flowers, more cards, more condolences. Mary hadn't even been through it the first time and found it exhausting. But, she stayed at Marshall's side; accepted people's phrases meant to heal with as much grace as she could. Kept telling everyone she wasn't his wife, nor was she pregnant with his baby. However, once they found out they were partners through the Marshal Service, they seemed to find the connection all the more endearing.

Once the clock inched to four P.M. though, she started to wear out. She was doing her best not to snark but her feet hurt and her belly was throbbing in a rather rough objection. It didn't feel like the rug rat was kicking anymore – it was something else. It wasn't bad enough to bother her though; mostly a nuisance that she was getting sick of having to ignore.

When she felt her phone vibrate in her pocket, she snuck a quick glance and used the out.

"It's Brandi," she told Marshall at their spot in front of the fireplace in the living room, she with her water which she hadn't touched, and he with his wine glass which was empty for the second time.

"Take it," he said, grateful they were alone at the moment.

"Are you sure?"

"Sure. I've got it covered – the speech is pretty well-rehearsed by now," he teased half-heartedly.

"Okay. I'll just be a second," she said, and made a beeline for the stairs.

She and her sister exchanged pleasantries on the steps and once Mary was in the guest room and had shut the door, she kicked her shoes off and practically fell sideways onto the bed, closing her eyes with relief. If she could just rest for a minute, she'd feel better. The cramps had really taken an upswing in the last half hour.

"What was that?" Brandi asked when she sighed loudly.

"Nothing," she murmured, half her face lost in the comforter.

"Was it you?"

"Yeah," she muttered, without the energy to make something up.

"Are you okay?" she wanted to know. "Where's Marshall?"

"Downstairs at the wake. Shaking so many hands he's gonna have something a lot worse than the common cold come Monday."

"I didn't mean to pull you away," Brandi apologized. "I just wanted to tell you I got your dress ordered. You should go back to Marshall."

"I've got a minute," she answered truthfully. "So you got the dress ordered?"

Mindless conversation was feeling pretty good. She didn't have to think, didn't have to make an effort – just listen. A red flag went up in her brain, wondering how she was going to fare once she got back to work. She guessed throwing herself into another – something she never did – had really taken it out of her.

"Yeah, in the light blue. You said you liked that one best, right?" Brandi was saying.

"Mmm hmm," Mary moaned.

"Are you all right?" Brandi repeated - a question Mary had not answered before. "What's with you?"

Shouldn't she have just asked, 'Why are you being so normal?' and got on with it?

"I'm tired, Squish. But trying to act like a halfway-decent human-being so Marshall can do what he has to. I'll be fine," she answered.

"Will you be able to fly back?"

"I don't plan on living in Wheatville where you choke on clouds of dust in this God awful heat every five minutes. So yeah, I think so," Mary responded, laced with sarcasm.

"I just meant – what are you six months now? Is it even safe?" Brandi pressed on.

"I got here; I'll get back," Mary replied shortly.

This conversation was rapidly turning pointless, so Mary let Brandi ramble on a little while longer about caterers and bouquets of flowers until she said she had to go and hung up. But once the sound of her sister's babble left the room, Mary found that that the silence was comforting. Her head was beginning to pound along with whatever was going on in her uterus and she found she really didn't want to get off the bed. It was soft and smooth against her sore muscles, so she shut her eyes again and decided she'd just take a minute – just a few – to store up some vigor before going back downstairs to Marshall.

**A/N: Stay tuned!**


	15. Chapter 15

**A/N: Guess I should reiterate that I do not own In Plain Sight.**

XXX

Marshall became so engrossed in all the relatives, in tending to his nieces and nephews, and even getting some sustenance from the ample supply on the counter, it wasn't until 6:30 and everyone had gone home he realized it had been sometime since he'd seen Mary. Leaving his mother to put away the remainder of the food, he took a quick jaunt upstairs to see if she wanted some leftover pie. She'd skin him alive if she found out he'd had some and hoarded it.

Knocking quietly on the door to the guest room, he entered without waiting for a response.

"Guess what I have…?" he began cheerily, but quickly trailed away seeing the sight inside the room.

She was crashed on the bed, not even snoozing up by the pillows, but right in the middle like she'd passed out on the spot, still in her funeral attire. Her right arm was curled under her head, the other resting at her side; her phone hung limply from her left hand, sliding out of her grasp. Marshall smiled at her sleeping figure and reached to take her phone and set it on the end table, but she stirred upon feeling his touch.

"Mmm…?" she groaned incoherently and Marshall grimaced. It was like poking a sleeping bear in the eye.

He hoped she might doze off again if he didn't say anything, but he couldn't _not_ respond when she murmured drowsily, "Marshall?"

Blinking her eyes slowly, she gazed at him lazily, looking slightly confused. Marshall sat at her feet on the bed, bare without her shoes.

"Hey – Rip Van Winkle," he joked. "Have a nice nap?"

"What?" she murmured, squinting and still looking uncertain. "I've been gone like…"

It was starting to register. Marshall enjoyed watching the light bulb go on. She paused, perhaps noticing that it was now dark outside.

"What time is it?"

She wiggled her fingers, clearly expecting her phone to still be there and Marshall flashed it in her face so she could read the clock – almost 7:00.

"Jesus…" she muttered, rubbing her eyes with her hand. "Why didn't you come get me?"

"Because I could handle it and if you fell asleep in the middle of the afternoon you must've needed it. Besides, waking you up would not have been a pleasant experience. I can vouch from past occurances."

"But I came to help you; I came so you wouldn't have to be by yourself, so you didn't have to rely on…"

She was coming to now, uncoiling her arm from behind her head.

"Why are you getting so upset?" Marshall asked, a little bewildered by the attitude. "It's fine. Honest."

"But Marshall…"

She tried to sit up quickly, pushing off the mattress with both hands, when she sucked in her breath and had to drop one hand to the bed, the other finding her stomach.

"Ooh…" she said suddenly. It definitely wasn't a kick. And it definitely hurt.

Marshall was on the alert at once. It felt good to be of help, to take care of her again – or at least try to. It was different than all this running-around he was doing in preparation for his father's passing. He was used to having Mary's back; it felt comforting and familiar. And after all she'd done for him, she deserved a little reciprocation.

"Okay, stop," he said calmly; he extended a hand, but didn't touch her. "Slow down. Breathe."

Miraculously, she actually did as he asked; low and deep. This was one area she didn't have the faintest idea what to do. Of course, given that she'd spent the last several days doing a lot of things she'd never even considered, she should've been willing but she wasn't. It scared her, even if she couldn't admit it.

"What's going on?" Marshall asked.

His eyes held compassion and that concern she knew so well, but it was more direct than it had been since she'd arrived – reminding her of the way he worked on a case, with a witness, when they really were on assignment and had to figure something out. Sensitive but rational.

"I don't know…" she whispered tentatively.

"Are you in pain?" he asked, like he was a doctor or a surgeon or some other individual with a medical degree.

"Not at the moment," she answered truthfully.

"But you were?"

She hesitated, and then knew he couldn't help if he didn't know the facts.

"Yes."

Marshall furrowed his brow, but he didn't look very worried. This eased Mary's mind a little and she took another deep breath to help her stay in control. She couldn't afford to go to pieces and she didn't like the feeling – period. Uncertainty never bothered her; she would just suck it up and power through.

She could see Marshall considering something, making a decision. She recognized the look and she remained poised, only sitting up halfway, as though frozen in time.

Marshall reached out placed his palm on her belly, his eyebrows still wrinkled in concentration.

"It's not…" Mary was about to say, 'It's not like the kicking' when the same thing happened again. A sudden burst, a stab in her lower abdomen and she gasped without thinking. Marshall immediately yanked his hand away, looking guilty.

"I'm sorry," he said immediately.

"It's not you, doofus," she groused, rubbing the side of her stomach agitatedly.

"No, you're right," he surprised her by agreeing.

"What were you doing?" she couldn't resist asking as the pain siphoned off again.

"Just checking. Your belly's hard. I think you're probably having Braxton Hicks contractions."

There were about six things in that sentence Mary didn't understand and the thought was alarming her. How much was going on inside her that she didn't know about? Was she stupid? How could she have gotten knocked-up and then not done her homework on what went on afterwards? It was going to be her fault if something happened to this kid.

Her guilt – or uncertainty, or fear – must've shown on her face because she felt Marshall's hand on her leg.

"Relax," he said gently. "They're completely normal. Nothing to worry about. Here…"

He got off the bed and offered her his hand. She decided to trust blindly – after all, he knew more about the workings of her uterus than she did – and curled her fingers around his. He guided her off the bed, helping her stand and then pulled the covers back, revealing the sheets underneath, and snatched the pillows in a big clump. Fluffing them, he propped them against the headboard and sat her back down. She was only dimly aware of this; her mind was working furiously trying to figure out if she had ever heard the term 'Braxton Hicks' before.

"Sit tight. I'll grab your pajamas – get you some water. You're probably dehydrated," he decided.

He headed for the door, loosening his tie as he did so, when Mary found herself calling him back. She didn't want him to go.

"Wait a minute!" she barked, trying not to sound too terribly weak-willed.

Marshall turned – his hand on the knob.

"What the hell are these things?" she rattled. "How do you know this kid isn't going to come shooting out three months early?"

Sensing she was slightly fearful of what was happening; Marshall walked back and resumed his place at her feet, scooting up slightly to her middle. He couldn't deny it was a little unnerving seeing her scared, but he couldn't let her know he was seeing it and just the same, he'd given her quite a roller coaster the past few days. The least he could do was return her favors when she needed it.

"It's the muscles of your uterus tightening," he explained. "Sometimes for just thirty seconds – sometimes almost two minutes. But they're totally irregular, infrequent, sporadic, you name it. They come and go all the time and are perfectly common, especially later in your pregnancy."

He said it all like it was nothing, like it didn't matter but Mary was feeling overwhelmed and at the same time, she hated that her stupid hormones or whatever the hell it was-was taking her away from Marshall in his time of need. It was his father's wake for Christ's sake and she was contracting all over the place.

"But…" she began dumbly, not even sure what she was going to say.

"Mary, you're tired, you're stressed, you've been traveling," he shrugged casually. "Lie down, drink some water; you'll shape up, be ready in no time. We can hang out tomorrow and then…"

His mention of tomorrow triggered something in Mary's memory – her phone call with Stan the night before. She had completely forgotten to look up flight times and now realized she'd told him she was going to fly out the next morning.

"Oh no," she moaned, covering her eyes with her hand. "Oh no…oh shit…"

"What?" Marshall prompted.

"Oh crap…I told Stan I'd fly home tomorrow; Delia's driving him insane, he's got a ton of paperwork he needs me to finish…"

Getting deeper with Marshall, the funeral, the weird pain – all of it had driven the conversation completely from her mind.

"Damn it," she cursed for a third time. "Hand me my phone; I need to book a flight."

"You're not flying if this is happening tomorrow…" Marshall gestured indistinctly at her stomach, indicating the contractions.

"You just said they were nothing!" Mary shouted.

"Which is true," he said, standing by his statement. "But it's just not a good idea. Wait a day, stay off your feet; I'm sure you'll be fine the next…"

"No! Marshall, no!" her voice was rising embarrassingly hysterically and she hit the bed for emphasis. "I came to help _you_! _I'm_ supposed to take care of _you_! Not the other way around!"

She was breathing hard and it was like her mind was on a five second delay – it took her a minute to realize what she'd just said. Marshall looked touched, almost on the verge of tears; that she was willing to put herself aside just for him, every second of the journey. Instead, he laid a hand on her knee and spoke quietly, trying not to make too big a deal.

"You have done your part," he assured her. "With flying colors."

She opened her mouth to respond, but he cut her off.

"Yes, I'm still sad. Yes, I'm upset and I miss my dad and I am faintly miserable when I stop to think about it. But right now, you need me – whether you'll admit it or not – and what will make me feel better is to keep you comfortable."

Mary had her arms-crossed defiantly over her middle, scowling slightly, but she seemed to be softening under his speech.

"You believe that, don't you?" he asked.

She definitely did. She basically believed whatever Marshall said, and this was no exception. She nodded in answer and trusted him to do what was right – what needed to be done. She hadn't forgotten how hard it had been to try and break down his walls when he was trying to stay tough in light of his father's death. She couldn't put him through that – at least not right now.

"I'm gonna get you some water, grab your pajamas, and call Stan. He will understand that we need to stay one more day. Sit tight and try to relax."

He rattled off his plan and instructions, very businesslike, and didn't wait for Mary's approval before he was up and moving – off the bed, out of the room, door closing behind him.

He was gone less than five minutes, back with a ridiculously tall glass of water and her pajamas, which he tossed at the end of the bed, talking on the phone all at the same time.

"Yeah, she's right here," he was saying. Shifting the phone off his ear to put the water on the end table he said to Mary, "Stan. He wants to talk to you."

Mary took the Blackberry with a quizzical look and put it to her ear while Marshall settled himself right beside her against the headboard.

"Hello?" she said grumpily.

"Hey kiddo; how you feeling?" Stan sang cheerfully. She fought to be pleased by his upbeat optimism.

"You know how I'm feeling," she replied scornfully.

"Uh, yes I do. And I want you to do just what Marshall tells you. Rest up tomorrow; fly back when you're good and healthy."

"Stan, I am healthy, you…" she began exasperatedly.

"That's an order, inspector. The water cooler and I will manage another day," he said the first statement firmly, the second with a little more tease.

"You owe me a good take-down when I get back," she bargained while Marshall grinned, running his hand up and down her leg, caressing it lightly.

"I'll have to look up the regs on that one, inspector. Sleep well."

She hung up without saying goodbye. Sighing, she handed the phone back to Marshall, who deposited it on the end table, trading for the glass of water. After taking a long drink, she turned back to her partner.

"Quite a day, huh doofus?"

"I would say so," he agreed.

"Never a dull moment."

Marshall chuckled and sighed himself. Mary imagined they must look pretty peculiar – in bed, still wearing their funeral black. Marshall still had his jacket on, but his tie was loose at the neck.

"You're gonna be fine," he said unexpectedly. "Bounce back before I can blink."

"Hope so," Mary admitted.

Tired, she let her head rest on Marshall's shoulder, reminded forcefully of the events of the last few days – how their positions had been reversed mere hours before. The happenings of the week were taking the two of them on one unpredictable journey. Life and death all rolled into one.

She felt Marshall drop a tender kiss on her hair. All her senses tingled with the contact and she smiled softly.

"Thanks for looking out for me, Marshall."

She heard him laugh quietly and she wasn't going to respond but then curiosity got the better of her.

"Why is that funny?" she shifted her head so she could see into his eyes. He was still smirking boyishly, making him look younger than he had in days.

"I was just thinking…" he mused. "But you might pummel me if I tell you _what_ I was thinking."

It was her turn to smile.

"Try me."

She turned her head away again, eyes on the bedspread in case Marshall was embarrassed about whatever had been rambling through his mind. She knew she would be if she had to confess what was clanking around in hers.

"I was gonna ask where you stashed Mary Shannon back in Albuquerque," he chuckled again. "What method you used to bind and gag her so her authentic self wouldn't escape."

Mary smirked slightly, knowing she deserved the doubt but that wasn't even what it was, really. She knew Marshall. She could revert right back – she probably would, frankly - and he'd still be there. He wanted her either way. It just amazed her it had taken her so long to realize it.

"I'm working on a new approach," she decided. "I would think you'd be proud of a little growth. And hey – not just a little," she jerked her head at her stomach.

He didn't say anything for a moment, his hand still on her leg where he'd put it when she'd been talking to Stan. Mary hadn't really registered the touch until now, and the minute she recognized his fingers she felt another twinge in her abdomen. She didn't gasp this time, a little more prepared for it, but Marshall didn't miss her tense up.

"Mmm…" was all that got out through tight lips as she found herself inching closer into Marshall's groove.

"Deep breath," he reiterated evenly, squeezing her knee. As the words escaped him, she gazed at him instinctively and saw that his face was moderate, absolute in reason. Marshall to a T.

"Yeah," she nodded and did as he said. "Right."

"Still bad?" he questioned.

"Not as strong as before, no," she told him, sighing as the flutter tapered away.

"Perfect," Marshall declared as Mary relaxed and took another sip of water, falling into the pillows. "More time between them, too. You're just a little hyper-sensitive to the pain since you're tired; they're gonna disappear before you know it."

He expected her to say she wasn't tired, she was perfectly fine, maybe even smack his arm for hovering so heavily. But she surprised him.

"What is with this kid? Can't he just saddle up and play nice?" she muttered disdainfully.

"Maybe…" Marshall shrugged. "He – or she – is trying to tell you something."

"Christ…" Mary griped sourly. "Like what? 'It's gettin' kinda cramped in here – let's bust out early?' Now I'm supposed to believe the kid's a psychic?"

"Actually, a psychic – if you believed in such a phenomenon – would be someone who could perceive the future using, perhaps, ESP. Extrasensory perception," he dictated. "What I am suggesting is that this child is simply using whatever means he or she has to get a message to you. A message without hickory sticks and essence."

Between Mary's sarcasm and Marshall's string of extraordinary recall of information, they were definitely shifting back into the realms of normalcy.

"So, fine," Mary continued, actually sitting up to get a better view of her partner. "Enlighten me, John Edward…"

"Yeah, he's a psychic," Marshall corrected her again.

"Whatever. Clue me in. What's little miss-ter drum-core supposed to be conveying to me as simply his temporary housing until a later date?"

Marshall stared right at her, distinct and unwavering in his response.

"That he – or she – isn't going down without a fight."

Mary didn't speak, but hung on, waiting for what came next.

"Regardless of what the outside world thinks, maybe this kid already knows where he belongs. My guess is he found it on that dusty diamond."

Raising his eyebrows so high they were about to disappear into his hair, he kept his stare on Mary who was looking both stunned and resigned by the revelation.

"He did, did he?" she grumbled half-heartedly. "Oh no, I'm sorry I forgot; she did, did she?" Mary corrected, mocking Marshall's inability to give the kid a gender without knowing for sure.

Before this week, Marshall never would've dared continue. He might not even have risked saying what had already come out. But things were different now. He could feel it in his bones.

"Yup," he nodded in response to Mary's question. "Kid's just trying to make sure his mom saw it too."

**A/N: Please review if you have a minute! Your comments make my day and I am so-so grateful to all of you that have taken the time! You're awesome!**


	16. Chapter 16

**A/N: I am so-so grateful to everyone that has reviewed. It means more than you know! **

XXX

Mary and Marshall whittled away the following morning playing stupid card games – Marshall knew way too many strange ones she had never even heard of. She poked fun the entire time, complaining how she 'didn't do games' and she was going to go crazy if she didn't get back to work soon. Fortunately, she talked to Stan three times during the day to get the logistics on a witness gone haywire. Although she hated not being there, Stan's considering her enough to call and get her opinion made her feel involved and that was something.

Mary kept insisting to her partner that she was fine – and she was. After a good night's sleep and glass after glass of water Marshall kept shoving in her hands (making her pee more than usual) she was practically a hundred percent. Whatever the kid was supposedly trying to tell her, he'd either given up or gotten it across. The pair of them booked a joint flight to hit the skies back to Albuquerque the following day – a bit of information that thoroughly depressed the nieces and nephews. Mary and Marshall joined the group that evening after another chat with Stan, when Griffin and Julian told the kids it was time to exchange goodbyes and go home.

"Mary!" Carolyn proclaimed when the two of them descended the stairs. "How are you feeling, honey?"

Trying not to grimace at the 'honey' salutation, Mary smiled as she and Marshall stepped into the kitchen, Mary grabbing a handful of grapes from the island.

"Better," she answered Carolyn. "Thank-you so much for letting me darken the doorstep another day. But your son and our hard-ass boss insisted I stay put."

Marshall smirked; it was a backhanded compliment and making Stan sound like a no-nonsense dictator was pretty amusing. He'd never known a guy so soft and so badass all at the same time.

"It was no problem at all," Carolyn waved a dismissive hand and laid some more dishes on the island for Mary to pig out on. She suspected Marshall had something to do with the nature of the snacks – carrots, celery, pieces of pineapple. Healthy garbage.

"And you come back any time you want," Marshall's mother added.

Her son had inherited her generosity, there was no denying it. Still, she couldn't help thinking how Seth would've reacted with Mary as a houseguest. The thought made her happy and sad all at the same time.

"This is where most people say, 'thanks for the offer,'" Marshall hissed from his spot behind her.

"Hey, I thanked her!" his partner smacked him playfully in the chest. "I was a perfect lady."

Marshall scoffed audibly, which earned him another whack from Mary, but she was laughing too. It was wonderful seeing Marshall slowly transform back into the man she knew so well. A sorrow lingered behind his eyes and there were times he became quiet and ambiguous, but he was making his way home and that made Mary's heart rest easy.

"You two," Carolyn laughed. "I'm gonna miss having you around."

The loneliness etched its way into her voice and Mary couldn't imagine what lay down the road for the newly-widowed-woman. She knew Marshall's parents had been married a long time; to suddenly lose all those future years had to be unbearable. She didn't know what she'd do if Marshall just up-and-died one day. She wouldn't be able to go on.

But…that wasn't really the same, was it? Seth and Carolyn were a couple. And she and Marshall were…

"We're gonna miss you too," Marshall was saying while Mary had all this coursing through her mind. He stepped forward to give his mother a quick hug. She closed her eyes and Mary saw a few tears leak out of her eyes as she got lost in her son's touch. Mary looked away briefly, watching the kids bounce themselves into oblivion on the furniture in the living room while their parents finalized details for play dates and coordinating carpools in the fall.

"But Griffin and Julian are here. And Mary will just cock her gun if we find out they're not coming to visit often enough."

He grinned at Mary, who smiled softly, but Carolyn gave a shaky laugh as she fell out of Marshall's grasp.

"Those kinds of insults didn't work when you father used it on them, it's not going to work now!"

"They don't know Inspector Shannon. She's got a mind of her own," Marshall was eyeing her strangely, almost like her toughness was turning him on. Mary suddenly felt very exposed and tried to keep her smile on, but there were chills running up and down her arms. She hoped Marshall didn't notice as he stepped back to her side.

"Besides," apparently Marshall wasn't done speaking. "Mary's got other methods of getting men to do what she wants."

She felt his arm crawl around her backside and she actually jumped.

"Marshall, stop!" she attempted a laugh, but she felt the hotness creeping up her neck along with a telltale thump in her belly. She rubbed her neck as Marshall chuckled and Carolyn joined in.

"I just meant you're clever that way. It's not all guns with this one. She's sharper than that."

Why was he being so kind? Not that he wasn't always kind, of course, but laying it out in the open like this? Maybe because he knew she couldn't snark with his family around; she'd actually make the effort to accept the pleasantries.

"Hey, you two!" Griffin called from the living room. Both Mary and Marshall turned. "We've gotta hit the road. The kids have got summer camp; starts in the morning."

Meaning it was time to say farewell – a thought only reinforced by an onslaught of whining from Sophie and Sarah.

"Noooooo!" Sarah pouted.

"Oh, Sarah Sue," Marshall was in his element as he headed into the living room, Mary lagging behind. He hoisted her into his arms and she hugged him from her spot aloft in the air. "It's not forever. Keep your chin up, okay?"

"Will you really come back soon?" she wanted to know while her twin, Sophie, clung to Marshall's legs like a leech.

"Cross my heart," he said, running a tender finger along her cheek. "You know I keep my promises."

She still had her lip stuck out; Marshall gave her hair a gentle stroke and placed a kiss on her cheek.

"Be good, all right? I'll hold you to it," he flashed her a look of mock-seriousness and she gave him a tiny smile.

"Okay."

Marshall slid her back to the ground while Mary continued to hang back, watching from afar. He was a natural. He said all the right things, coaxed out their smiles, made them laugh, making pledges and guarantees she knew he'd hold down to the letter. After all, he did the same for her.

"All right gang; the rest of you say your goodbyes; we've got to get out of here," Julian instructed.

There was a flurry in exchanging farewells. Sophie took her turn at groaning and Marshall picked her up too, planting sloppy kisses on her face, which made her giggle. Daniel and Quinn busied themselves hugging Carolyn, who looked like she was on the verge of tears again, but she held it together and told the boys to behave and come visit soon. Claire, as it always seemed to be, stayed behind the others, observing and taking it in – her father shaking hands with Julian, her twin cousins trying to pin Marshall to the floor to get him to stay, her grandmother tweaking Daniel's cheek.

A thought struck Mary suddenly as she realized that this – right here – was family. It wasn't perfect. In a lot of ways it was really screwed up and convoluted, full of fault and fraught with problems. But underneath there was an understanding, a silent pact to just dust yourself off and keep trying, to come back to each other when you needed it. And there was glue that kept all that as one. Mary had a very distinct idea who held that role in the Mann household.

"Mary," a voice interrupted her thoughts and she realized it was Griffin, standing right in front of her while his wife attempted to pry the children away from Marshall.

"It was very nice to meet you," he was so polite; she was floored and had to tell her brain to stick out her hand to shake the one he was offering her. "I'm…"

He hesitated as Mary wiggled her fingers free, waiting for him to continue.

"I'm…grateful you could be here for Marshall. He's a lucky guy."

"Wow, Griffin…" she couldn't stop herself from saying, both surprised he'd managed to get the words out and also flabbergasted she was actually being viewed as someone another was fortunate to have in their life. She was cynical and sarcastic. That was all she'd ever been. Funny how another could see you if you just made the effort.

"Was that you being decent?" she joked. "It's an interesting color on you."

He chuckled bitterly, but she knew he understood, that he wouldn't take it too personally.

"I suppose I deserved that," he conceded. "Truce?"

Mary nodded, unwilling to give it up in words as Julian stepped in and shook her hand as well.

"Nice seeing you, Mary. Safe flight back. Keep an eye on the boy scout for us, will you?" he requested with a jerk of his head in Marshall's direction. In the gap between the brothers she could see her partner kissing the kids one last time, dropping them on heads while Claire hovered at the edges, trying to get her fifteen minutes.

"The 'boy scout' can keep an eye on himself," she reminded them. And then with a teasing smile, "But I'll do my best."

And with that, the wives were calling their husbands back to corral the kids out the car, knowing if they didn't escape now they probably never would. Marshall and his brood were likely to stay attached at the hip for the next lifetime if they weren't careful. Griffin and Julian dispersed, grabbing their offspring and Marshall joined Mary on her side of the room, Carolyn back in the kitchen, head in the fridge.

Once Marshall was next to her again, Mary found herself wrapping an arm around him without even thinking about it. Before this trip, they'd barely ever touched unless they had to for some work-related instance or other. Now she did it automatically. More than one thing had changed this week.

"See you guys later," Griffin waved briefly on their way out of the living room.

"Oh wait!" one of the wives – Mary didn't even know which one – called to the kids. "You didn't say goodbye to Mary!"

Uh-oh. Red alert. Red alert. Hugs? Kisses? No. Out of the question.

Marshall must've felt her tense because he squeezed her side playfully to help her relax. Fortunately, she didn't really have to worry. The kids took it in stride.

"Bye Mary!" Daniel called with much waggling of his fingers.

"Can you play kickball again tomorrow?" Quinn asked innocently. His mother laughed and quickly tried to explain that Mary was going back home – she would be too far away to play with him – while the twins said their goodbyes too.

"Will you bring the baby to visit next time?" Sophie asked.

An awkward feeling stole over Mary, one only shared by Marshall and Carolyn since the others didn't know of her plan to ship the kid to Timbuktu or God knew where. She couldn't help remembering what Marshall had said the night before, still pondering whether he'd been referring to the two of them or her rug rat – or both. And she wasn't sure about either possibility.

"Um…" she began uncertainly. On instinct, she glanced to Marshall for help.

"We'll see," he answered evenly. Perfectly neutral. Why did she worry when she had him around?

The kids waved again on their way out the door; Mary and Marshall followed, Marshall promising return visits, inviting them to come and stay at his place in New Mexico and go to the Rattlesnake Museum which enthralled Daniel and Quinn. Mary suspected they'd be talking about it all the way home. Out on the front walk, they watched them pile into their cars, Carolyn standing in the front window to see them off.

And then, just as the back door of Julian's van was about to slide closed, Mary noticed Claire looking back, two feet still on the driveway as she hesitated getting in beside her brother. She looked melancholy but defiant – like she was unhappy having to say goodbye but wasn't going to admit it. Marshall must've seen her too, because he made a silly face, sticking out his tongue, and wiggled his fingers again.

"Bye Claire Bear!"

She paused, ignoring her father's instructions to get in and buckle up. And then she bolted – little legs propelling back up the front walk, just as they had been on the day she'd strived for home plate. Marshall laughed as she came into his line of vision and he held out his arms. She bounded into them and he scooped her right up, swinging her over his head airplane-style and she giggled girlishly, squealing when he dug his fingers into her sides to tickle.

Once she came back to earth, she threw her arms around his neck.

"Are you going to miss me?" she asked.

Marshall chortled and smoothed her hair.

"Something awful," he replied.

Mary found herself smiling as she witnessed the two of them together and she placed a hand on Marshall's back. For no good reason this time.

"Me too, Uncle Marshall."

"I should hope so!" he insisted and she laughed again.

"Claire, let's go!" Julian called from the driver's seat as Griffin's SUV pulled out behind them, its tires bouncing on the curb, swinging around and disappearing from view.

"You better get moving," Marshall said.

"Fine," she said, resigned and with a roll of her eyes that was so astonishingly familiar, Mary was stunned. And then, "I love you."

"I love you too Claire."

And the biggest shock of all.

"Bye Mary."

The little one leaned from her spot in Marshall's arms and kissed her cheek. Mary was so surprised she didn't know what to say. She just stood there with her mouth half-open. Marshall raised his eyebrows and flashed her a very boyish, mischievous smirk, but even he knew she couldn't snark her way out of this one.

"Bye Claire," she finally said. And then she added unexpectedly, "I had fun."

It wasn't really until that moment that she realized she had. At least, part of the time. On that field, at least.

Marshall slid her to the sidewalk and she raced back to the car shouting, "I'm coming; I'm coming!"

With a final wave, Julian backed the van out of the drive and within seconds he was gone. Marshall and Mary just stood, arms still weaved around one another, watching the spot where the cars had disappeared, taking in the silence. It wasn't as warm today and a light summer breeze lifted Mary's hair, bringing on a sense of relaxation and peace. There were enormous fluffy clouds hanging low in the sky, looking heavy in the fast-approaching dusk. She was going to miss it here. But, she also missed Albuquerque - Stan. Brandi and her mother.

"What are you thinking about?" Marshall asked suddenly.

"Hmm?" she turned saw his big blue eyes scanning her, getting her number. "Just…real world. Back to work tomorrow."

"Yeah," he sighed tiredly. "But we've still got tonight."

"And what do you want to do with that, partner?" Mary asked, even a little flirtatiously. Her signals went off, telling her to cut it out but for the first time, she didn't listen.

Marshall pretended to think, his chin in his hand.

"How 'bout we take a walk?"

How could something so simple sound so nice?

"I'd love to," she said.

But, "I love you," is what she thought.

**A/N: I hope this is going a good direction! Not much left but still several chapters to go!**


	17. Chapter 17

**A/N: Here we go, bay-bay!**

XXX

"It really is beautiful here, Marshall," Mary said as they strolled around the neighborhood, leisurely and with ease.

The sun was going down and cast dim shadows beneath the canopy of leafy, thriving green trees. The road was adorned with fallen foliage that crackled beneath their feet. The clouds still looked threatening in the distance but like gentle giants; not nearly as daunting as they might seem.

"It is," he agreed, taking in his surroundings, eyes scanning the bed of branches that crisscrossed above. "Secluded. Sheltered…"

He flashed Mary a knowing look.

"Private."

Mary felt herself go red for something that had nothing to do with the heat. He had some nerve. How was it that they had torn so many walls down, that they both knew it, but they had yet to discuss it? Mary guessed it was just part of being partners, of knowing what made them tick – when one zigged, the other zagged. In-sync and in rhythm, one hundred percent of the time.

"I forgot to give your sister-in-law her flip-flops back," Mary remarked stupidly, watching her feet against the pavement. Otherwise, she wore the pair of jeans she'd arrived in and a black T-shirt, long with a few buttons decorating the chest. She'd realized her dark attire at the service had hid her growth spurt quite well.

"Don't think she'll mind. She's got about twelve pairs," Marshall answered casually, referring to the shoes. "Personally, I would've thought you'd have – no pun-intended – given them the boot by now. No more heels?"

"You try walking with feet that have ballooned to the size of overstuffed turkeys!" she pointed a threatening finger as they continued their jaunt. "It isn't pretty."

"I'll have to take your word on that," he said lightly.

They walked in silence a few more steps, wind whistling in the trees above, leaves dancing across the sidewalk. Ordinarily, Mary wasn't much for silences. She was funny that way. Hated to discuss anything but hated for things to be too quiet. But with Marshall, it was different. She felt like they were having a conversation even if they weren't. When you spent so much time with someone who could practically read your mind like an open book, you didn't need to do a lot of speaking.

"Something on your mind?" Marshall finally said.

"Just about how you don't have to prattle on for me to enjoy your company, but you just ruined it," she joshed.

"I'll take that as a compliment," he decided. "By the way – I almost forgot – I have something for you…"

He slipped his fingers into the back pocket of his jeans and came up with two pieces of paper, slick and smooth, four-by-sixes, like…

"Photographs," he said, peeling the pages apart, for they had stuck together slightly from being in his pocket.

"Why are you giving me photographs? You Ansel Adams now?" she asked.

"No," Marshall chuckled, and he was clearly looking them over, but Mary couldn't see what they were. She became more and more curious the longer he surveyed them, wondering if he was perhaps reluctant to give them away. But who knew; maybe he was just enjoying the memories.

"One is actually from my mom. She thought you might like to have it – came across it while we were sorting through the stacks for the service."

Two days ago he wouldn't have been able to get through that sentence without tearing up. He looked a little gloomy at the words, but that was still a lot of progress.

"So long as you don't use it to blackmail me…" he warned, and let the photo pass from his fingers into hers. Mary gave a rueful laugh before giving it the once-over.

She'd have to remember to thank Carolyn. Because, rather against her will, she did love it. Mary wasn't a 'picture' person. What did she have memories of that warranted capturing and holding forever? Brandi was obsessed and had always plastered her room, and now Peter's house, with stupid, goofy snapshots. But Mary had only a couple at her place framed and that was it – mostly just for something to put on the walls.

But smiling at the photo in her hands, she could just see it propped on her desk at the office. It was Marshall, maybe eight years old, and he was sitting cross-legged on the front porch they had just left, flashing the camera a very cheesy smile, squinting in the sun. His hair was a lighter brown, but it stuck up in front like badly-mown grass. He was holding what had to be Seth's Marshal Badge in his right hand, showing the camera, and wearing a shirt with the five-point-star logo printed on the front. It was so long it looked like a dress, a thought that made Mary grin, until a realization came to mind.

"Is that the shirt you made me wear?" she asked, flashing the photo back to Marshall so he could see. "When I took the kids to the park?"

"Yeah," he smiled sheepishly. "It was my dad's. It was the only thing big enough I could find…"

He ducked as Mary attempted to smack him upside the head, but both of them were laughing.

"Look at you…" she said, turning back to the picture. "So adorable. What the hell happened?"

"Should've seen that coming," Marshall grumbled.

"So what's the other one?" Mary asked, sliding the photo into her back pocket, the same place Marshall had been keeping it.

Romantic?

Marshall hesitated, looking a little shy. Mary had to wonder why he was putting himself through it if it embarrassed him. He must've thought it was right – moral – in some form or another. An honest man's burden.

"Here…"

He handed it to her, and Mary felt a jump – a leap in her heart so high it might now be in her throat.

"But…that's us…" she murmured.

She'd completely forgotten about the time it was taken until just now. She was pretty sure she'd never even seen the shot, despite the sudden recollection of its happening. Mary was much younger – maybe twenty-nine or thirty – she could tell by the awful, fringy bangs garnishing her forehead. The rest of her hair was in a ponytail, always her style of choice in those days. But Marshall looked exactly the same. He was grinning, looking halfway naughty, and Mary was laughing out loud, her mouth wide open, hand on Marshall's head as though she'd been fooling with his hair. It had been taken at a WITSEC training seminar in Ohio, outside for the agility portion, so they both had on navy sweatpants and white T-shirts, the tiny Marshal emblem printed in the corner. It followed them everywhere.

"Where did you get this?" she asked. "And it's ancient. Why do you have it here?"

"I've had it since it was taken. As you'll recall, they made us take the standard, professional photo to go in the files as representation for the Albuquerque division and you refused to crack a smile…" he began.

"Yeah, damn right," Mary nodded, satisfied with her younger self. "They want you looking like some made-up model – who's going to take an inspector seriously with that kind of crap on record?"

"Anyway," Marshall interrupted. "I had to sway your expressions. So I dug my hand in your side to make you laugh and you retaliated by grabbing the hair. A low move, if ever I saw one."

"Yeah-yeah," she muttered, but in truth, she felt a sense of safety seeing the picture. Those days with Marshall had seemed a long time ago; it reminded her of how far back they really went, of how far they'd come, and what it had taken to push them along the way.

"So…why is it here again?" she repeated, referring to his childhood home.

"I found it in the dresser in my bedroom. I used to bring it with me when I got homesick visiting here – dad with his radar, Griffin and Julian with their tactlessness. Missing the job…missing you."

Boy. He was really flying without a net now. Why didn't one of them just say what both of them were thinking? Why was it so hard?

"Are you sure you don't want to keep it?" she asked softly, trying to sound understanding.

"I've got another," he replied.

They'd been walking so long now it was almost dark. Tiny, shimmering stars dotted the blanket of indigo that was rapidly become navy above them. Mary could just see them sparkling through the trees, intertwining with the branches and leaves like some intricate puzzle. No order and all beauty.

A fork of lightning hit the darkness, descended in a single bolt from one of those dense clouds. Mary didn't jump, but felt it surge her with life; a glow glimmering somewhere deep inside.

"Heat lightning," Marshall remarked. "Flashes on the distant horizon without the accompanying echo of thunder due the dissipation of the sound waves."

Mary shook her head at him spouting scholarly just like always, but her chest still burdened the hope she'd felt with the flare. And for the first time, she wasn't sure Marshall was right. The heat was inside her now, pulling out of the atmosphere, cooling the breezes that circled.

She pocketed the photo of the two of them to go beside the first and threw caution to the winds. Forcefully, she grabbed Marshall's hand and hung on, matching him stride-for-stride.

Unlike a few days before, he didn't seem surprised by the contact. He fell into it naturally and it was perhaps this act of initiation by Mary that spurred his confession.

"Talked to Abigail today."

Oh, dear. Not what she'd been expecting.

"Oh yeah?"

Fighting nonchalance.

"Told her the truth. She said she understood."

Something told Mary she hadn't. Not completely. Especially not if she'd known the _whole_ truth.

"Well that's…good?" Mary answered uncertainly. "She is your girlfriend."

"She is not my girlfriend anymore."

Mary thought maybe fireworks were exploding in every artery, every blood vessel, every pore in her body. But she squeezed Marshall's hand, a silent apology if she had anything to do with his abrupt departure from a bouncy, Texas detective.

"Sorry, partner."

She could see him shrug, even in the darkness. He seemed all right with it. More explosives. Maybe Roman candles and sparklers this time.

"It wasn't right. You know when it is."

And then he stopped, pulling Mary to a halt as well. She stuttered slightly, surprised at how fast he'd come to a standstill, but he was still holding her hand and helped to keep her on her feet. Strong and warm. Another fork coursed the sky, glimmering brightly and throwing Marshall's features into focus for a mere moment. He looked so confident and it reminded Mary so forcefully of his old self.

She gazed into his face, his blue eyes strangely bright in what would soon be velvety blackness – a lighthouse for those lost at sea.

But Mary didn't feel lost. She felt more grounded and more secure than she had in sometime. Not counting her relationship with the rug rat, and even that could work itself out.

"I'm not sure I know how to do this," she admitted, the very words she'd said when Marshall had learned she was pregnant.

"Protect and relocate," he answered right on cue.

Protect – they were partners, had each other's back – and relocate – they were going home to Albuquerque the next day. It all fit.

"You're a dweeb, you know that?" she told him, wondering how he could possibly put everything together like this, draw from past experiences – completely different conversations – and allow them to become one.

But then he said it.

"I'm a dweeb that loves you more than I have ever been able to tell you."

She thought it would send her racing for home, spending the night at the airport, avoiding Marshall at every possible turn to help her to cope with such commitment and intensity. But she didn't feel that at all. She felt relieved. She felt strangely innocent. She felt the same way he did.

But she could botch anything with words. So she stood on tiptoe, wove her arms around his neck and kissed him – soft and slow, warm and sweet. It was bliss – butterflies in her chest, tiny feet in her tummy. And it was easy. So much easier than she'd ever thought. Like it was supposed to happen all along.

Her mouth was still on his when the thunder rumbled across the plains, channeling itself through the wheat to the swaying trees above, louder but still hushed, blanketing the two of them under rain that dotted the street. The smell of the ozone steamed from the sidewalk as Mary felt the drops on her face, washing away any doubt or uncertainty she might have had left.

When she pulled away, she let her arms splay across his back, just holding him close, breathing him in. He felt safe and secure – all trust and purity and heart. Slipping back, she hung her arms on his shoulders; fingers intertwined behind his neck, and grinned up at him. Her hair was damp already and Marshall's face was slick with the drops but he was clearly beside himself with joy.

"Then I guess that makes _me_ a dweeb," she whispered, remembering his declaration with fondness. "Cause I love you too."

**A/N: So, did it live up to its promise? Tell me it lived up to its promise LOL! All kidding aside – I really hope you guys enjoyed the climax. Please review if you can; just one chapter left plus a very lengthy epilogue so there's still a bit to come!**


	18. Chapter 18

**A/N: Big thanks to my reviewers! I hope the last chapter wasn't too out-of-character for anyone. Here is the conclusion but no worries – epilogue still to come.**

XXX

Albuquerque had never tasted so sweet. Mary was willing to take the heat – actually worse than it had been in Kansas – the barren, New Mexico wilderness, parched and dry, if it just meant getting back to normalcy. Marshall teased her about this on the plane, saying her yearning for something so stagnant surely indicated something about her personality but she didn't care. She was happy to be home.

They hit the ground running right off the tarmac – Marshall more than Mary. He bolted to tend to some witness or other after continual, very adamant requests that Mary see the doctor before returning to work to ensure that the Braxton Hicks really were Braxton Hicks. After a quick stop at home to drop off her things – where she ran into Brandi and Jinx – she abided his 'strong suggestion' and then joined him and the witness. It wasn't until after lunch that they made it to the office.

Mary could smell the coffee brewing even from behind the double doors. And though it threatened to make her innards spill over, the scent was strangely heavenly just the same. Marshall swiped his badge and they weren't in the door two minutes before Stan bounded out of his office – arms spread wide, a jovial smile on his face.

"Inspectors!" he shouted, announcing their presence as if they'd just been appointed mayor. "Welcome back!"

"Good to be here," Marshall replied. "Got a lot done already and _we_-," he cuffed Mary's shoulder roughly, making her scowl. "Are so touched that you missed us."

"Yes-yes, I'm so moved I might break into song any minute. Well-up and profess my undying loyalty. You got a pen, doofus? I might need to compose a poem," Mary griped; cynicism at its best.

"I once said that you use sarcasm to express your true feelings…" Marshall dictated.

"Ah, some things never change," Stan sang merrily, bouncing on the balls of his feet.

"Yeah-yeah," Mary grumbled.

"But all kidding aside," their boss dropped his voice slightly, his tone turning serious. "How you doing Marshall?"

He reached out and put his hand on the other man's shoulder and Marshall returned the gesture with a sad, but certain smile.

"Some days better than others," he admitted. "Grief does happen in stages – denial, anger, bargaining, depression…"

Mary wanted to make another disdainful comment but knew her timing was bad and simply gave Marshall a rugged clap on the back to express whatever feelings she could with Stan around.

"Kind of happened out-of-order…" Marshall lamented with a shrug.

"It's not all about order," Mary interjected quietly without thinking. Stan flashed her a look, but didn't say anything.

"Well, give it some time; you'll be okay," Stan jostled his shoulder – a sign of understanding – and then, "It's good to have you back. Let us know if you need anything."

Marshall nodded and shook his hand briefly, a small smile on his face. Mary was grateful to be around Stan again; his relaxed, carefree attitude could do wonders for Marshall. Regardless of what came out of her mouth next.

"Male bonding…my favorite kind," she muttered with a disappointed shake of her head. "I'll be over there losing my lunch…"

She made to head to her desk, but Stan reached out and snatched her arm.

"Whoa-whoa, just a minute my pregnant princess…"

"Your _what_?" Mary squawked.

"Unbelievable…!" Marshall gaped, a disbelieving grin on his face.

"He said the word!" Mary picked up the thread, knowing about Stan's aversion to all-things-pregnancy.

"Didn't know he had it in him," Marshall continued.

"What's next? Uterus, cervix…?"

"Okay-okay, enough!" Stan shouted and Mary was very satisfied to see the flush creep into his cheeks. He was still gripping her forearm and she wiggled free, but remained rooted to the spot to see what he wanted while she and Marshall giggled.

"So, what is it old man?" she asked to push him along.

"Did you get yourself checked out by a qualified physician? With all that…you know…" he gestured indistinctly, clearly unable to completely give-in to the whole 'with child' aspect. "…Business…you know…going on the other night…"

"Why bother? I have Doctor Sprock here," she threw Marshall a glowing look.

"Mary…" Stan said warningly.

"Yes-yes, okay, yes; I did, this morning," she prattled quickly to shut him up. "Fresh off the plane thanks to Mr. OBGYN over here," she jerked her head at Marshall this time.

"And?" Stan prompted.

"And I'm fine. Turns out Marshall isn't a quack after all – knew what he was talking about. It was those…what are they called?" she wrinkled her nose and looked to Marshall for help.

"Braxton Hicks," he supplied at once.

"Yeah, those. No big deal, totally routine. She said I can't spread my wings again till I pop this kid out, but…"

"No more flying," Marshall clarified for Stan, who was looking confused.

"Ah," he nodded. And then, "Well you two – back to the grind. I left forms for both of you, new case files, the whole nine yards. We'll talk after I finish my lunch."

With that, he disappeared into his office and Mary and Marshall headed to their respective desks, Marshall booting his computer, Mary flipping idly through a pile of sticky notes printed with purple hearts. She practically gagged at the sight and suspected Delia might've had something to do with it. It felt so good to have her heart ticking again, the way she was used to it beating. But it was also nice to have that little corner open, one she'd closed off a long time ago, but which was now occupied by Marshall. And a little something else as well.

"Hey Marshall," she called, still flipping through post-its.

"Uh-huh?" he murmured, eyes scanning his computer screen.

"You know…" she put the notes down and reached into her bag, left at the side of her chair where it always sat. "I owe you."

"For what?" he asked curiously.

She opened the clasp on the satchel and pulled out three things – the two photos Marshall had given her and a sealed Manila envelope. She propped the photo of him as the federal-in-training against the only framed one on her desk – she with her dad when she was six years old. But she slid the shot of Marshall over James, so the young Mary and Marshall stood side-by-side. Crooked, jumbled, but together. She placed the other picture – the one of them about eight years younger – underneath the edge of the frame, trapping it so it wouldn't blow away. She'd buy some glass to keep it in later. Maybe.

"Why do you owe me?" Marshall repeated when she didn't answer, looking up from his desk this time.

"Well…" she began, stepping around to his side. "You practically redecorated my area with that old-time reminiscence, remembrance crap."

"And?" he prompted.

She was standing in front of his table now; his hands were splayed in front as he waited expectantly for her answer.

"Well, I figure I could toss you a little something to pretty-up that sterile, bare-bones space you call a desk," she wiggled her fingers at his spotlessly-clean work area, papers stacked, pencils in their cup. So different from the trash heap over on her side. But it wasn't like she didn't know where things were.

"So here," she tossed him the Manila envelope in her hand and strode back to her desk.

Mary was trying to stay casual, calm, completely and utterly collected but her heart was threatening to burst out of her chest it was beating so hard. She could feel every fiber in her body screaming to say the words, to let it loose, to just get on with it. But she waited it out, sorting absentmindedly through the stuff on her desk to avoid looking at Marshall.

Marshall undid the brad keeping the envelope sealed and groped in the folds for what lay inside. He felt a slick, smooth surface – a photo? He couldn't imagine what sort of photo Mary would give him. She didn't exactly have a fondness for them.

He pulled the picture out upside down and, flipping it over, came upon a sight that made tears spring to his eyes and put a lump the size of a baseball in his throat. He could feel chills rising on his arms even though it was the middle of July.

"Mary…" he whispered, ethereal and hushed.

He raised a finger and traced the outline of an unborn baby – white on black, tiny splotches dotting the background as he made out an arm, maybe a leg, and even a nose. A sonogram; she must've gotten it that morning at her appointment. Even as he stared at what was fast becoming Baby Shannon, he couldn't help thinking what this might mean. Was he understanding correctly? Was this her way of telling him?

He stood, carrying the prized picture in his hands, and walked to her desk. She was sitting now, being so obviously evasive it was almost comical. This only reinforced his hunch about her sudden decision.

"Does this…?"

She might run if he said the words, so he waited for her to confirm.

"Well, I figure…" she began, still not looking at him. "It'd really be _more_ selfish of me to deny a kid the promise of intellect and wildly useless information that they're only going to get with an Uncle Marshall around."

She turned her face to his and stood too, chair sliding underneath her. He didn't move.

"You are a rare breed," she murmured, running a tender finger along his chest, following the stripes on his shirt.

"You finally figured that out after all these years, huh?" he risked saying.

She smirked softly and gazed up at him. They just stood for several minutes, Marshall with the photo, she with her hand poised on his chest. Neither one spoke. Waiting for the other to break.

It was Marshall who split the silence first by leaning down and kissing her tenderly, Stan completely forgotten. He'd have to find out someday. Mary fell into his embrace, lips gentle and supple on hers. It was all the nudging she needed and she slipped out of the kiss and ran her hands around his back, feeling the softness of his jacket against her fingers while her belly breathed between them.

"Don't tell anybody this," she murmured, so quietly he barely understood. "But it seems that I kind of screw things up when I only think about what I want. Who knew right?"

She almost giggled and Marshall pressed her further into his embrace, her hands tight on his back now, squeezing lightly.

"What you want matters," Marshall whispered. "It does."

He meant it and would never forgive himself if he knew he'd guilted Mary into something she didn't truly desire.

"And what if what _I_ want is…giving you what _you_ want for the first time in eight years?"

He smiled and dared to run his hand over the curve of her stomach. She shoved it off, but grasped his fingers in hers when he pulled away.

"So, I know it's a lot," she shrugged, Marshall's hand pulsating in her own. "But you think you could be…" another shrug. "I don't know. More than…an Uncle Marshall?"

"If you can be more than a curmudgeon," he teased without cracking a smile, but she couldn't stop her own from escaping. "But not _too_ much more. We've been a pair for eight years – give and take. Why stop now?"

He captured her lips briefly with his a second time and her eyes caught the ultrasound photo still in his hand. His free one was dangerously low on her backside.

"What are you two doing?" came a flabbergasted shout from the office.

Marshall started to laugh and Mary couldn't help it. She did the same, tugged away from him and tapped the photo with the nail of her index finger.

"Make room for a third on that squad," she said, starting back to her desk and referring to Marshall's remark about their being a pair.

He beamed, light shining in his big blue eyes.

"Congratulations doofus," she said with a broader, wider grin than Marshall had ever seen. "It's a boy."

**A/N: So, I am hoping beyond hope that Mary's semi-shift in demeanor due to her excursion to aide Marshall explains why I have decided to have her keep the baby. I reiterate though, that even on the show I don't know if I want her to. I know some people write fan-fiction because they don't like the direction the show is headed but I think everything that plays out on screen is brilliant. I have total faith in the writers and actors that they will make every episode a success and they never fail. I think I write just for alternate stories, things I might like to see, or just situations I enjoy putting the characters in. I think whatever way the writers wrap up season five will be great and I don't worry in the least!**

**Anyway! Just the epilogue remains but it is LONG! So fear not; there's a little bit of Mary and Marshall still to come. **


	19. Epilogue

**A/N: Okay folks – here is the promised epilogue. Don't be disheartened by the turn it seems to take initially. That's part of the reason it's so long; I wanted to show Mary and Marshall as still being 'real' but also happy. So read it through and I hope that by the time you make it to the end you will be satisfied.**

XXX

_Five Months Later_

Swirling silver snow circled in the streetlamps and blanketed the brown Kansas grass in a shining white sheet, bluish with the light of the half moon hanging low in the sky above. Mary watched the tan fields flick past, even in the darkness, saw the pinpricks of light as Marshall drove into the suburbs, tiny dots of red and green blurring against the fast-falling flakes.

Her partner noticed she was strangely silent, but he knew her unhappy silent from her contemplative silent and this one seemed more contemplative.

"You're not nervous, are you?" he prodded delicately.

"Why should I be?" she answered almost immediately, nearly speaking over him. She didn't turn from the window.

"Well, you shouldn't. That's the point," he replied. "You've met them all before, albeit briefly. It's no big deal."

"Exactly. I know that. No problem," Mary said shortly.

Marshall nodded and decided not to press the issue. She would speak when she was ready – possibly. Hard to say with Mary, even now.

A tiny whimper sounded from the backseat – agitated and uncertain. Like clockwork, Marshall saw Mary respond in an instant.

"I wonder if he's hungry," she whirled around in her seat and rubbed the little one's belly to soothe him. He shifted as well as he was able in his car seat and cooed softly again before settling down.

"Don't obsess, remember?" Marshall reminded her. "It's not good for either of you. You fed him as soon as we got off the plane. He'll be okay until we can get to the house."

"Oh…" Mary slowly turned to face the front again, crossing her arms over her middle. "Yeah. Right."

Despite Marshall's constant refrain that Mary not over-prioritize, over-think, frankly overdo every part of their son's life, he couldn't help but find it endearing. She'd taken to their boy like turkey to mashed potatoes on Thanksgiving. Yet, she was still Mary in every single way and sometimes he felt she dealt with him a little too much like a witness. Deep down, Marshall knew she still doubted herself and her abilities to mother and she got so caught up in doing the job right, she didn't leave time to enjoy it.

"Hey – Sheriff Sam!" Marshall called, peering into his rearview mirror as though the baby might actually respond. "Tell your mama obsession dominates one's thoughts and ideas to the point of injury and she'd do better to stop and smell the roses once in awhile."

"Not funny, doofus," Mary groused from his right.

"What's up with you?" he decided to cut to the chase. "Not that I don't enjoy your usual sunny attitude but you seem strangely out-of-sorts. And I know holidays aren't really your thing but…"

"Well then, you'd think you could figure it out, couldn't you?" she sniped. "Jesus, a guy with brains like yours and you never know when to quit."

"Is that any way to talk to your fiancée?"

The word made Mary's heart twitter like it was growing wings, but it also made her stomach churn – not as though she were sick, but as though she were about to go skydiving, flying through the sun and couldn't uncurl her toes from the edge of the cliff. In simpler and more-demeaning terms – fear.

"Marshall, I…" she turned to face him, his eyes still on the snow-covered road in front of them.

They were near it now; she could see the canopy of trees sagging under the weight of the ice, the houses thatched as though frosted – like cakes or gingerbread cottages.

"I've never spent Christmas…doing anything worth doing," she confessed. "The best one I remember is the year Jinx bought me that big wheel. Raph and I never spent holidays together; he always went home to the Dominican Republic because I made excuses about having to work."

"The excuses weren't always untrue," Marshall interjected, trying to make her feel a bit better. "Remember the year we had to stake out in Flagstaff on Christmas Eve at twenty-below? In the Probe with its crappy heater?"

Mary smirked at the memory. Sad as it might have been, that was one of her better holidays. She knew it was because she'd spent it with Marshall.

"I just don't know how to…_do_ family traditions. Sugar cookies and twinkly lights and gaudy wreaths? All this merriment people spread around? It's so…" she searched for the right word. "Foreign."

The rental car came to a halt in front of a familiar house, decorated tastefully with a few simple strings of white lights, a plain wreath with a red bow lit by the porch lamp. Marshall must've been able to see the doubt in her eyes, because he reached out and touched her knee.

"Mare, I don't think you're worried about spreading Christmas spirit. You'll do what you can, just like anything else," he began. "I think you're worried about what mom and Griffin and Julian are gonna think about us being engaged with a two-month-old that isn't even mine."

"Don't say that," Mary interrupted sharply, all seriousness. "Sam is your son. I know Mark and I figured things out – or as much as we ever do – but you're raising the little Smush. And he's yours for a lot more reasons than just that one."

"You're really sticking with Smush, huh?" Marshall wanted to know, deviating slightly.

"I told you I don't know where it comes from – it just happens!" Mary protested, sounding like her old self. "I don't even know why Brandi's Squish – she just is! Roll with it, Poindexter!"

Marshall grinned, rubbed her knee lightly and then squeezed it. The touch seemed to recall her to what they had been discussing before and he saw the misgivings creep in.

"If I can roll with it, you can too," he promised her. "If Stan can wrangle the two of us being kickass Marshal's _and_ a couple of lovebirds with the DOJ and everybody else, this is nothing."

"Don't say lovebirds," Mary requested automatically, and he smirked again.

"Think about when you were here the last time," Marshall suggested. "You came of your own volition – didn't even waste the energy worrying what my family thought of you."

"That's different…" Mary began.

"Maybe," Marshall offered. "But think about _this_. Look how far you've come since then. You let me in. We are one…"

He saw her go slightly red at the words, but continued.

"And you have a very handsome son that you couldn't adore more if you tried."

"Marshall, I don't know what the hell I'm doing…" she gestured indistinctly at the baby trying to snooze in the backseat.

"You're just green," he reminded her gently. "It's new and – don't smack me – but scary. You think you're not doing it, but you _are_. I see it every second you're together. I just wish…" he trailed away, unsure whether he should go on, not certain how she would take his next proclamation.

"What? You wish what?" she demanded impatiently.

Marshall hesitated again, but knew she'd just get angry if he beat around the bush.

"I hate to see you miss out on all the great parts of being a mom because you're so afraid you're gonna make a mistake," he murmured. "It's gonna be full of successes and failures. Hell, Brandi put his diaper on backwards last week."

"Yeah, and he spends more time with her than he does me anyway…" Mary muttered in an undertone, but Marshall wasn't fooled.

"Don't even go there," he interrupted, deciding it was time to wrap this up and head inside. They could go round-and-round on it all night. "We're taking each day as it comes, remember? Your mother and Brandi and Peter do great with him when we've gotta handle our job. Between the five of us, he's getting more love than he knows what to do with. What do you say we head in and give him some more?"

With that, Marshall opened his car door, careful not to ding Griffin's SUV already parked in the driveway on his way out. He went around to Mary's side to see if she wanted him to carry their little one in, but she was already on it – unbuckling his car seat, lifting him out. He couldn't think of anyone but Mary that would unstrap a two-month-old just to go ten feet to the front door in snow, but she liked to keep him close. Marshall decided they could grab the presents out of the trunk after they said their hellos and took Sam's now-empty seat to cart inside.

When they reached the porch, Marshall gave his fiancée one last reassuring look to make sure she was ready for what lay ahead but she was nestling a sleepy Sam in her chest, adjusting the hood on his navy fleece to cover his ears. So he simply opened the door and shouted his greeting.

"Hello!"

Inside the house, it was warm and bright and Mary was pleased to see that the decorations had been kept to a minimum. Judging by the pine smell wafting into the foyer, a real evergreen stood in the living room, shining with multicolored spheres, packages in bright colors huddled in the lower branches. This was all she took in before the crowd convened, Marshall scarcely able to unwind his scarf.

"Uncle Marshall! Uncle Marshall!"

Twin squeals erupted from Sophie and Sarah as they bolted in, wearing identical plaid pleated dresses – Sophie in red, Sarah in green.

"Hey, double-vision!" Marshall tossed his scarf aside, onto the steps, and hoisted each girl up briefly for a quick kiss.

"Is that Sam?" Sarah wanted to know, looking thrilled at the prospect and peering on tiptoe at the bundle in Mary's arms.

"Nah, he's a loaner…" she muttered and Marshall nudged her with his elbow.

"That is Sam," he answered over his brooding bride-to-be. "But he's been in dreamland so how 'bout we let him wake up a little? If he's anything like you two-!"

He poked a finger into each of the girls' tummies, making them squeal and try to snatch his hand, but he was too quick for them.

"He'll be a real grouch if you rouse him before he's ready."

Mary could tell Sarah and Sophie were both going to pout, but Marshall was saved more explanation by the arrival of the rest of the Mann's.

"Hey-hey!" Griffin and Julian shouted in unison, waving with flour-caked hands which prevented them from shaking Marshall's. Mary, of course, was holding the baby – so close to her chest it was as though he were a life preserver. In the back of her mind, she realized he was dealing with this much better than she was – she ought to take her cue from the little one.

"Uncle Marshall!" Daniel and Quinn cried as they crashed in, throwing their arms around Marshall's waist for bear hugs, their mothers waving as the group made its way into the living room. Mary could see doughy cookies on the island, wives submerged in sprinkles and frosting.

Mary felt grateful Marshall was such a commodity with this group because no one had paid much attention to her yet – that is, until they realized the lump shifting against her shirt was Sam.

"Mary, good to see you," Griffin finally greeted her, and his words seemed genuine. "How's our guy, huh?" he gave Sam a small rub on his back, but didn't wait for Mary to respond before Julian joined in and said hello as well.

Near as May could tell, none of them seemed to care that she and Marshall were going to be married, that they were raising another man's child. Sure, they wouldn't pester her about it her first five seconds though the door (would they?) but something told her it wasn't coming at all – present or future.

It was starting to come back like a good dream – one she'd started to believe hadn't really existed to begin with. Although her original trek to Kansas had been for a somber occasion, she'd found something there she'd never had before – a complete family.

Granted, Jinx and Brandi were now so responsible and upstanding it was slightly scary, but she liked having another side of relations as well. Marshall was the only part of it that had seemed real in the last five months but she was starting to realize she hadn't fantasized this group. They were here, proving that her son was going to grow up with the kind of life she'd always hoped he would have, be it with the Shannon's or the Mann's.

Mary settled herself on the couch and unzipped Sam's fleece pullover to take it off, revealing his grey-and-white stripes underneath and a pair of jeans so miniscule Mary was still amazed they made such a thing. Now that he was waking up a little, she could see his big round eyes. She remained convinced they were going to turn green, like her own, and his hair was light and flyaway, growing in tufts on top. She saw his cherubic, soft cheeks, slightly pink from the cold and the way he looked at her – all wonder, trust, and hope. Nobody else gave her that same glance.

In the kitchen, the twins were showing off their cookies to Marshall and he was prattling on about the way he used to do the same thing with granddad when he was a kid. With a jolt, Mary suddenly felt selfish for making this holiday all about her when it was Marshall's first without his dad. On the ground, Daniel and Quinn were shaking boxes underneath the tree, paying Mary no mind. What did boys want with babies?

Suddenly, Mary heard footsteps and Carolyn appeared down the stairs, leading little Claire by the hand, whispering something in her ear as Claire held a rectangular box. Mary's senses tingled, acting without her consent upon seeing the youngest. Admittedly, Claire was looking a little older than she had several months back. Her hair was growing and she had gotten taller, dressed in a red Christmas sweater, a reindeer printed on the front.

The pair noticed Mary and beamed.

"Mary, darling!" Carolyn announced. "I didn't hear you come in! Claire here was just helping me wrap up a gift…"

She nudged the little girl, who gave a secretive giggle and shoved the box into her grandmother's arms to say hello to Mary.

"Hi!" she bounced onto the couch next to the woman and kissed her cheek, just as she'd done when they'd parted ways back in July. This time, Mary was a little less surprised but it still caught her off-guard.

"Hi Claire," Mary replied. And then, "Hi Carolyn. Merry…" She cleared her throat stupidly, "Merry Christmas."

She didn't miss Marshall look up from his spot in the kitchen when the phrase came out of her mouth.

"How are you?" Carolyn made her way over. "Are you getting _any_ sleep?" she laughed. "Or is this one keeping you up most of the night?"

Carolyn sat on the coffee table across from Mary and rubbed Sam's head, fingers tracing the outline of his tiny body. She seemed enraptured and suddenly, Mary couldn't understand why she'd ever worried about blood or biology or DNA.

"How are _you_ Sammy boy?" she whispered. "I'm your old, unhip grandmother…"

Mary smirked at the salutation, glad it was just the four of them, Claire being unobtrusive and observant at her elbow. She knew Marshall was watching and would try to keep the group solidified as long as possible so Mary could relax. He was always thinking about her, and it was then she realized Marshall had probably told his family not to overwhelm Mary and the baby. They hadn't even met Sam yet and she knew under ordinary circumstances they would be gushing uncontrollably. She was instantly grateful for Marshall's ability to think ahead.

"Claire, look how tiny he is…" Carolyn pointed out to her granddaughter. "See his beautiful eyes?"

Mary smiled and gazed into Sam's orbs herself and saw that he was watching not her, but Claire, with quite a bit of interest. They probed slowly back and forth, taking in her features, blinking fast like it was too much all at once.

"He's gorgeous, Mary," Carolyn said softly, stroking his head another time. "You and Marshall must be so proud."

The sentence took Mary back to their first meeting, when Carolyn had insisted the two of them were family without even knowing who Mary was. The thought made her feel safe and it helped calm her slightly.

"Thanks," she said to Carolyn. "Sometimes I…wonder if I'm doing this whole thing right…"

She didn't know what made her admit it.

"The best of us wonder that about our kids," Carolyn said, straightening Sam's shirt, fingering the thermal with her nails. "But I know you, and I _definitely_ know Marshall. This one will be fine – trust me."

She smiled warmly and Mary began to feel better; Carolyn stood and gave Daniel a nudge with her foot on her way into the kitchen.

"No peeking!"

"Grandma!" Daniel gave an annoyed shout but Quinn snickered and snatched a package from his cousin's arms.

Lost in thought, Mary watched Sam flex his fingers as though testing them out, nestling his head against Mary's chest. She loved when he did that; he was like a heated, soft little ball, perfect and content in her arms, even if just for a moment.

"Mary…" Claire suddenly said quietly.

Mary turned to the little one, who was looking curious, almost inquisitive.

"Yeah?"

"How come Sam smushes up his face like that?" for the boy was sniffling slightly, trying to find a good spot in his mother's grip.

Mary had to grin. Smush.

"I'm not sure," she said honestly. "Sometimes, Uncle Marshall and I say it's because he's trying to decide if he wants to cry or not."

"Hmm…" Claire nodded. "He's so little," she continued.

Nervously, she perched next to Mary, as though worried about disturbing or breaking him. Mary had felt the same way when he was born and still did at times. It just endeared her more to Claire.

"You can touch him," she said, trying to sound inviting. "He likes it. And it might keep him from bawling," she added with a bitter laugh.

Cautiously, Claire extended her hand and tickled her fingers across his belly – index, middle, and ring right in a row as though too much contact was a little scary. But when Sam sighed his happy sigh, Claire giggled excitedly. Amazing how something so small could please so much and Mary laughed too.

"Claire…" Mary began, considering what was going to come out of her mouth next.

She hesitated only for a minute before landing on a decision.

"Do you want to hold him?"

She knew if the others had been paying more attention, they'd never have let her. They'd say she was too little, not strong enough, and on the off-chance they said it was okay, she'd have been last behind her brother and cousins. By then, Sam would be fussy and agitated and no longer interested in being passed around. Mary was usually reluctant to hand the baby over anyway – except to Marshall. It made her so nervous having him out of sight but something deep inside her wanted to do this for Claire. After all, she wasn't the baby anymore.

Claire looked a little apprehensive at the prospect, but also excited and she nodded eagerly.

"Okay…" Mary stood, shifting Sam into the crook of her arm. "Sit back against the cushions in the corner," she instructed, indicating the space she had just vacated, throw pillows aloft to give her a little more support.

Claire nudged her rear-end into the space, legs dangling above the ground. Slowly, Mary leaned in to place the baby in Claire's arms.

"Now you're gonna put one hand behind his head…" she eased the little one down, resting his torso in Claire's lap so she could adjust her hand around the top of his head.

"And put this one…kind of on his butt…"

Claire giggled, but did as Mary told her. The phrases reminded Mary of Marshall schooling her on how to hold Sam when he was just a few hours old. Sometimes, she had to go over the principles again, still plagued by worry she was going to drop or hurt him.

"Just make sure he doesn't hit the ground and you're good to go," Mary shrugged and slipped her fingers off Sam's back, giving Claire all the power.

In an instant, Mary knew it was worth whatever Griffin or Julian might say about Claire not being able to handle the baby because she positively glowed with the thrill if holding him all by herself. And incredibly, Sam didn't look so small in Claire's arms. He looked like a real person – eyes following the little girl's with an awareness Mary didn't know a two-month old could have.

"He's watching me!" Claire announced, her nose inches from Sam's face. "Does he like me?"

It seemed she and the four-year-old were of one mind. She'd wondered the exact same thing, almost the minute that Sam had landed. She'd never given a damn what people thought of her and yet she was terrified her son wasn't going to take to her the way a little boy should adore his mother. She'd remembered Marshall and Carolyn and prayed they would end up like them.

Mary sat beside Claire but was careful to let her do her own thing; she was completely capable of hanging on to Sam.

"Looks like it to me," she answered Claire's pressing question. "He's not crying."

Claire smiled at the realization, turning to Mary to flash her grin and she noticed one of her bottom teeth was missing.

"Did you lose a tooth already?" she asked without thinking.

"Uh-huh," Claire answered, holding her limbs stiff to keep Sam content. "But not like…the regular way."

"What way did you lose it?" Mary couldn't help wondering with a bemused chuckle. "The irregular way?"

Claire was about to respond but footsteps interrupted them and Mary saw Marshall striding into their midst, mock-surprise on his face.

"That grown-up girl holding _my_ boy absolutely _cannot_ be my Claire Bear!" he gaped so dramatically it was comical and Claire became keen to share.

"Uncle Marshall, Mary let me do it all by myself! Before Sarah or Sophie or Daniel or Quinn or anyone! And she said he likes me! He does, doesn't he?" she wanted to know again.

Marshall laughed, first at Claire's joy and then at Mary's cheeks, pink with embarrassment but also satisfaction.

"You're a lucky lady," Marshall told her, perching on the arm of the couch next to his niece. "Mary doesn't let just _anyone_ hold Sam."

Truer words had never been spoken.

"But she made an excellent choice. You're a very big girl and Sam _loves_ you. You're his cousin!" he reminded her and Mary flushed again at the title donning the pair related.

Unfortunately, their conversation came a halt when the rest of the Mann's made their way into the living room, Griffin, Julian, mothers and grandmothers squawking excitedly while Claire chirped her accomplishment about holding Sam. Ill-timed it became though, when the ruckus shook Sam from his reverie and he started to whine, meaning Claire had to give him back to Mary. She took it in stride though and joined her cousins and brother on the floor in front of the Christmas tree.

Once the baby was securely in her arms again, Marshall stepped to Mary's side in front of the couch and squeezed her shoulder tenderly, a silent appreciation for her consideration of Claire. Her own contribution to, "Christmas spirit." She smiled softly at him and leaned over to lightly kiss his cheek.

"Sit down! Sit down, all of you!" Griffin's wife shoved the kids to the floor for they were bouncing all around, upsetting the lower branches, knocking ornaments onto the carpet. Daniel gave Sophie once last push while Sarah jumped between them before they all settled down.

"So Mary…" Carolyn began as the adults took places on the floor as well, Carolyn in a recliner opposite the tree. Griffin and Julian nestled with their wives, Mary and Marshall taking residence on the couch, Sam cradled in Mary's grasp. Once seated, Marshall put his arm around her trying to pull her closer.

"We're not much for a lot of schmaltzy traditions – give us the early-morning cheer and the good food and we're set," she continued.

"My kind of Christmas," Mary laughed and she heard Marshall do the same beside her.

"But we do have one it's a little hard to let go of," Carolyn added. "Hope you don't mind."

"No…" Mary shook her head, unsure as to why she was being consulted. "Don't give it up just because I'm a Scrooge."

"You're not a Scrooge…" Marshall placated her.

"Oh, please," Mary scoffed, flashing him a spectacular eye roll. "You're not fooling anybody. They aren't going to pretend _not_ to know I'm no Christmas elf."

Honesty felt okay right now. She could joke with these people. Couldn't she?

"You don't like _Christmas_?" Quinn exploded from his spot on the floor. "Doesn't Santa bring you anything? Were you bad?"

All the adults laughed, Marshall among them, but Mary couldn't smile. It wasn't that what Quinn said wasn't amusing. But trying to explain why Christmas was difficult involved her father, a younger, more-sloshed Jinx and a whiny baby Brandi. Nobody needed those memories plaguing their good ones.

"Are you kidding?" Marshall answered for her. "Nobody's better behaved than this one. To a fault," he added.

Whatever that meant.

"Anyway Mary, the reason I bring up this whole 'traditions' malarkey is that we never open gifts prior to December 25th…" she threw the grandkids a pitying look and they frowned.

"With a small exception. Our youngest gets to open just one before bedtime – no more till tomorrow morning."

Mary nodded, glancing at Claire, expecting to see her bound for the boxes, ripping paper off before she could even begin to savor the moment. But it was then she realized everyone was staring at her and Claire hadn't moved. She was thrown completely – Carolyn had said the youngest got the single, solitary gift on Christmas Eve.

"What…?" she murmured uncertainly, looking to Marshall for assistance.

"Babe, Sam's the youngest," he whispered, his breath tickling in her ear.

Babe? Yeah, that one was new.

"Oh…" she remarked stupidly, turning back to the group and deciding to leave Marshall's new nickname for later. "No, I mean…he's not…really, I'm sure…"

What was she even saying? She couldn't get a coherent thought out. All she knew was that this was totally unexpected – a curve ball if ever she saw one. How could she be so adept at sniffing out con-men and run-amok witnesses yet she couldn't sense bonding and togetherness from a mile away? Suddenly, all the ease she had felt with Claire and Carolyn evaporated and she fancied herself an outsider again.

"This is a family thing," she finally managed quietly. She felt Marshall sigh and tighten his grip around her back.

"Don't let me intrude…"

"Honey, you are family," Carolyn pressed gently. "You and Sam."

"Even before the boy scout popped the question," Griffin piped up and his wife smacked him playfully on the arm. "You're stuck with us, grouchy. Get used to it."

Mary tried to smile but the muscles required didn't seem to be working.

"It's really not a big deal," Carolyn assured her. "Honestly, you can't even return the thing," she laughed.

"Then it's the perfect gift for the Queen of Re-gift," Marshall joked, for Mary was still looking slightly lost.

"Marshall silly; I didn't re-gift," his mother corrected him. "I just said she couldn't return it. Sarah, hand me that box," Carolyn gestured at the lighter-haired twin who grabbed the package Claire had come downstairs carrying. It was wrapped in shiny red paper, a silver bow stuck to the top.

Carolyn stood from the recliner and handed the gift to Marshall, for Mary still had Sam who was trying to doze off again amongst all the commotion.

"You open it," he murmured in an undertone. "I'll take Sam."

Mary wanted to tell him no, wanted to say she was embarrassed, that she didn't belong in this land of light and happiness and joy but she didn't know how. So she allowed Marshall to slip the baby out of her grasp to cradle him in his arms.

Slowly, she unstuck the bow, rumpled slightly from what she guessed to be Claire's wrapping. She felt very self-conscious with everyone watching as she tore the paper off, trying not to engage in much childish-ripping. She tried to focus on Marshall's eyes and nobody else's; pretending he was the only one who could see her.

A white department store box was under the wrapping and she had to slit open some more tape before encountering tissue paper on the inside, which she pulled aside to reveal the gift.

"Oh, no way…" Marshall chuckled, sounding both surprised and amused.

Griffin and Julian began to laugh as well and Carolyn chortled politely as Mary held up a tiny, bright red sleeper that snapped up the front, printed with little cowboys on horses, swinging their lassos as they galloped across the fabric. She couldn't help noticing it was worn against the seat, the cotton well-loved.

"Wow…" Mary murmured, waiting for someone to explain the joke.

"Marshall had a cowboy fetish when he was a little one – no thanks to his father," Carolyn said with fondness. "Fostered from an early age, obviously. Those were the first of _many_ pairs of bull-fighting jammies throughout his youth. I thought you two might like to have them for Sam."

"Carolyn, this is…"

Words were failing her. It was just an outfit – Sam had zillions at home. Maybe it was trying to picture Marshall such a size, in seeing the underlying closeness that existed in this home that came around year-after-year.

"It's…its great. Thank-you," she managed politely.

She guessed she sounded stilted despite her sincerity and suddenly, she wanted to get away before she fell apart, before she broke down and started wailing with gratitude and sap. Since Sam had been born, she'd kind of lost control of her emotions in a way that irritated her to the breaking point.

"I think Sam...needs to be changed…" she lied, trying not to yank the baby from Marshall in her impatience to get out of the room. Marshall handed him over but she didn't miss the look of confusion and concern on his face. Sam in one arm and the sleeper in the other, she made for the stairs.

"Just be a second…" she said quickly before slipping up and out of sight.

An awkward silence fell with Mary's abrupt departure, everyone exchanging uncertain glances – except for the kids who were back to shaking presents and elbowing each other.

"Marshall, is something going on?" Carolyn asked immediately. "She seems upset."

"No," Marshall sighed and got off the couch with every intent to go after Mary. "She'll never admit it, so you can't tell her I said anything, but she's…"

He hesitated, noticing that Griffin and Julian were waiting expectantly for answers as well.

"Just…nervous is all," he decided on a portion of the truth.

"What on earth for?" now Carolyn was standing, wanting to get to the root of the issue.

"Well…" Marshall shrugged. "The snap-engagement, the baby…Christmas with a new family. It's just a lot all at once."

His mother seemed to understand it better as he laid it all out and her son put a comforting hand on her shoulder.

"I'll talk to her; don't worry," he promised. "Thanks for the gift, mom."

He kissed her cheek and she nodded, giving him permission to escape up the stairs after his girl. And he did just that, leaving his nieces and nephews to try and see through the gift wrap, Griffin and Julian to down their wine and make toasts with their wives. It was a more natural way to spend Christmas Eve but he and Mary never went for customary; they walked their own road, pieced out their own journey. He loved every stone and every brick, even the difficult ones.

The hallway was dark as Marshall approached it and he caught a glimpse of the snow still falling outside the bathroom window. Habit took him striding to the guest room, brain whirring of his previous visits to Mary in this house but when he reached the door he realized she wasn't inside. His mother's neat decorating adorned the tables and bed, pillows propped stylishly, a fresh vase of flowers on the bedside table.

Bewildered, Marshall glanced around and saw that his old bedroom door was open a crack, a sliver of light hitting the hall floor. How he'd neglected to notice he wasn't sure, but he'd strode right past without even realizing. Not wanting to burst in, he peered through the crack and laid eyes on a sight that made his heart melt into one big puddle.

Mary was sitting cross-legged on his cowboy bed, covers pulled down so she was perched in the sheets, Sam on his back in front of her, legs kicking as he got used to the surface. She was pulling the cowboy sleeper onto him, his second arm now secure and she did up the snaps one-by-one. Once dressed, Mary gently pulled him up under his arms, held him high above her head and kissed his belly. His little legs dangled beneath her strong hands as she left another fluttering kiss on his tummy, and then slid him in close, chest-to-chest, head-to-head, unmistakably hugging him, one hand now supporting his little butt.

Marshall smiled, feeling a warmth in his own chest. He knew how Mary loved Sam, but in another's presence she became so concerned with his well-being she rarely showed it. Even when it was just the two of them, she marveled in Marshall's way with him, not her own. It made his Christmas to see them share the moment.

And then Marshall's smile turned upside-down as he realized Mary was no longer simply nuzzling her son – she was crying, face crumpled, tears rolling silently down her cheeks and if he wasn't mistaken, this made her hold Sam tighter. Marshall didn't even stop to think about her shame or embarrassment – Mary never cried in front of others – his protective instincts took over and her refused to stand and watch her weep.

"What's the matter?" he whispered, sliding in through the gap in the door. He was in front of her on the bed in an instant.

She didn't answer, but sniffled unattractively and Marshall noticed she was trembling slightly. As much as it pained him, he was afraid to let her hold Sam when she was so shaky.

"Give him to me…" he murmured softly. "I'll put him down; he's gotta be tired."

Mary obeyed and when Marshall stood to go back to the door, he realized there was now a crib in the corner behind it. His mother must've taken it out of the back room so Sam could sleep in here. Grateful for Carolyn's tact, he carefully put Sam down amongst the old stuffed animals left behind by his nieces and nephews, a battered-looking mobile of elephants twirling idly in the breeze from the heater. Then he returned to Mary, who was still crying.

"What's wrong?" he repeated; eyes full of worry and desperation. "Mary…"

He usually asked before getting too touchy-feely. But this was Christmas, they were in his parent's house with their son and his family waiting downstairs and the woman he loved more than life itself was clearly troubled beyond explanation. Sometimes you just had to do what needed to be done.

"Come here…"

He pulled her into his arms and she buried her face in his chest, the fabric from his shirt soft against her cheek. He rubbed her hair and was brought back to a much different, far hotter evening in July when she had held him the same way, Sam just a bulge in her belly.

"I didn't want you to see," she said thickly.

"I've seen worse," he admitted, hoping to boost her spirits. "Besides. You're gonna be my wife. There's a lot more ugly ahead."

He heard her laugh slightly and she tugged away from him, wiping her eyes with the backs of her hands. Marshall peered low into her eyes, wanting to catch the weak link there and make her talk.

"You know I hate it when my girl is melancholy," he said, corny as ever. Mary rolled her eyes through the redness, but she grinned. "If Mama Mann and Sheriff Sam aren't happy then…"

He shrugged a little over-dramatically and Mary scoffed at the goofy nicknames, unable to hide the grin.

"Don't be cute," she whispered.

"I'll try not to," he promised and she smirked again. Marshall kept his arm around her, their temples side-by-side. There was barely enough room for the two of them on the tiny twin bed.

"Babe, why are you crying?" he pressed as delicately as he could, despite how anxious he was to get to the bottom of the issue.

"Where did, 'babe' come from?" she diverted, remembering his use of the word earlier. "Does that make me a pig?"

Marshall was confused for a mere moment until he remembered the film inspired by the hog and he chuckled.

"No," he answered. And then, "I don't know. Do you not like it?"

She shrugged, trying to compose herself because if she carried on like this it would upset Sam and she didn't want that.

"Just not used to it," she told him. "There's a lot of that going around."

He sensed her about to spill and decided to give her the time she might need to get the words out. Something about this house made Mary reveal all in ways she never did otherwise. That was fine with Marshall – he fell in love with her badass self, not some sappy Susie Sunshine. But he couldn't deny plumbing deeper depths of her emotions felt good on occasion; to help her break down walls she'd cemented a long time ago.

"Marshall…" she began without looking at him. "What if I don't belong here? What if this is a world where I don't fit in? I'm not exactly the familial type…"

She shuddered slightly in trying to control the tears and Marshall stroked her opposite shoulder to try and calm her.

"I don't think you're scared you don't belong," he whispered. "I think you're scared you _do_ belong."

"The hell? What does that mean?" she snarked.

He took her chin in his hand and turned her face to his, her green eyes swimmy and large with dreams and desires.

"If you gain love, there's a bigger possibility you're going to lose it," he whispered. "And _that's_ what you're afraid of. That's why you cling to Sam, am I right? Keep him close; make sure he knows he's never going to be left behind? Like your dad left you behind?"

He'd hit the nail on the head and he knew it at once. He wiped away the tears that leaked from her eyes with his thumb and while his hand lay suspended there, she reached up and grasped it, curling his fingers into hers and kissing his knuckles. He could feel her sheltering his fingers like a rope that would keep her from falling into the pit below, the bend in his hand pressed against her lips. He knew she was crying again.

"I miss my dad," she murmured, voice muddled and thick. "I'm so sorry Marshall…"

"Why are you sorry?" his tone was laced with sympathy as he pulled his fingers free so he could see her face, but still let his palm rest inside hers.

"Because this is your first Christmas without Seth and here I'm bawling over some con-man that ran out and never looked back."

"You're entitled to your feelings," he promised. "But this is about more than James. For the most part, you've left him in the past. This is about you worrying yourself sick that my family is going to turn on you the way that he did. Isn't it?"

"It's possible," she said an undertone, much more quickly than Marshall expected.

"Look…" he leaned in, transferring his hand to her lap and staring directly into her eyes. "I know you hate when people sugarcoat things. So truthfully, I don't know how my family is going to handle the newest Mann," he saw Mary smirk sadly at the play on words.

"But if they can't adjust, to hell with them," he stated baldly, meaning every word. "Nothing they say or do could ever keep me away from you and Sam. We are a pair 'till we're old, grey and _still_ clocking glocks at the crazies."

He'd expected her to laugh, maybe throw some disbelief in his face, but he didn't expect her to lean in and kiss him square on the lips, fingers in his hair on the back of his neck, breathing him in as though her life depended on it. He got lost in the touch, her lips salty from tears that were falling all over again. It was only until Sam whimpered softly that he realized they were making out in his kiddy bedroom, not to mention with his entire family waiting downstairs.

Mary started to laugh when he slipped away and caught him with another quick smooch before letting him go completely.

"For the record," he said abruptly. "I don't think you have anything to worry about. They're wild about you, they're wild about Sam…Mama Mann has won their heart," and he winked boyishly.

"Nerd," she joshed. "Quit calling me that."

He wouldn't. He loved the way it made her cheeks go pink.

"Trust yourself," he leaned in so they were cheek-to-cheek, his breath warm in her ear. "Okay?"

He felt her nod even though he couldn't see her eyes and then sat back again.

"So…" he could sense this passing into calmer waters and decided Mary had-had enough theatrics for the evening. "Before we rejoin the gang; I have something for you."

"Why?" she wrinkled her nose in bewilderment.

"Well, I don't know if you got the memo," he stood from the bed and peered into Sam's crib. He was drifting off to sleep, his tiny belly rising and falling with every breath beneath his inherited jammies. "But it is Christmas. This usually involves presents of some kind – a stocking here, some tinsel there…"

"Okay-okay," she nodded and held up a hand as Marshall reached into his suitcase waiting by the door. Either Griffin or Julian must've brought the bags in while the twins were showing off the cookies.

"Why now? I thought you don't open presents Christmas Eve," she raised her eyebrows in skepticism.

He unzipped the suitcase and groped for the book beneath his neatly folded clothes, fingers closing around it with satisfaction.

"Every family has their _own_ traditions," he stated matter-of-factly, presenting the book with a flourish.

He went back to Mary on the bed, causing her to nudge herself against the wall to make room against the headboard. They sat side-by-side, Marshall's long legs protruding over the end. Memories flooded from another evening, one he'd remembered just five minutes ago. Sometimes you couldn't stop the recollections if you tried.

"Someone once told me…" he said, sliding the book with its handsome leather-bound cover into her hands. "There isn't any point in having memories if you can only remember the crap."

She looked at him, all admiration and adoration. How did he hold onto things like that?

"So…screw the bad times. Here's some good," and he patted the cover of the book, which Mary slowly opened.

It was pictures – photo after photo, time after time, person after person flashing past as the years faded, flew forward and stretched back. Some were of her that she'd never seen before. Others of what she could assume to be Marshall as a little boy, recognizing the face of the future-Marshal still propped on her desk in Albuquerque. And there were still more recent ones that made her grin with fondness, even Marshall in more current times with his nieces and nephews before Mary had met them.

"Marshall…" she whispered, turning the pages with lightness in her heart.

She and Brandi holding buckets at the beach, around six and one year old. Brandi was a fat baby, plopped in the sand, grains mushed in her hair while Mary waved at the camera in a spectacularly ugly swimsuit – lime green with bright hot pink flowers.

Marshall holding what she could assume to be Julian in the hospital, around five years of age, a much younger Carolyn in the bed bedside him. Griffin lingered in the corner, around two and a half or three years old. And there was Seth, perched in a chair on the opposite side looking gruff but pleased all at the same time.

A lump in her throat seeing Jinx hanging all over her father in what looked to be a casino – clearly they had won big because her mother was obviously jangling her quarter cup and James looked thrilled beyond words. With grim pleasure, Mary wondered if they were both drunk because they seemed way happier than she'd ever remembered them.

But remember the better times.

"Where did you get these?" she murmured. "I don't even remember some of them."

"Your mom, Brandi…" he answered with a shrug. "Remember when Brandi was looking to make a photo collage for she and Peter's wedding? Well, she and Jinx had them spread out all over the place – apparently your mother is quite the packrat – and I just gave them the once-over, picked my favorites."

Mary in college with Brandi on Little Sister's Weekend; the younger one was only about twelve, perched on her knees on Mary's awful, lumpy dorm bed, arms thrown around her big sister. Twenty-something-Mary was clearly annoyed by the affection and was rolling her eyes. And present-day Mary laughed at herself.

A hilariously stilted family portrait of the Mann gang, Marshall a gawky fifteen-year-old wearing an ugly purple bolo tie, his ears way too big for his head.

"You were a doofus even then!" Mary squawked with a hoot, tapping the photo with her nail.

Face after face flashed past – Sarah and Sophie, frighteningly-identical with their front teeth missing as Quinn crawled along the bottom of the frame. Claire from just a few years before, holding a baseball bat in the front yard like a weapon, Seth lurking in the background clearly wanting to correct her grip. Carolyn covering her face with her hands as some sneaky photographer snuck up before she was ready.

"Do you like it?" Marshall whispered, stroking her hair gently as she continued to flip through the pages.

She was about to tell him just how much when she hit a Polaroid that made her heart stop. She gasped softly seeing his face next to her own – his scraggly reddish-brown beard already streaked with grey, his hazel eyes, strong arms and big hands. Mary was maybe four and she was in her father's arms, her head against his chest as he held her aloft in the air, cuddling him close, smiling sweetly at the camera. He looked happy too, one hand on her shiny golden hair.

She felt Marshall kiss her temple. He knew to put it in. Most men would leave it out because of the emotion it would prompt, but not Marshall. He knew how she would appreciate it.

"It's perfect," she murmured, fighting not to cry.

The shots started to take a more recent turn towards the end and Mary found herself laughing all over again – Stan even made an appearance, bunny ears on Mary at the office while she flipped Marshall off who had been taking the picture. The two of them mixed in more and more, the captures always the same – Marshall being a complete goof in attempts to get Mary to crack a smile. She made a variety of faces, some of them fairly close to a grin; it was strange seeing those moments, knowing they hadn't been 'together' during the time of origin but knowing where they ended up.

"Oh Jesus…" Mary muttered, sounding thoroughly put-out and Marshall cracked up as he saw what was causing the reaction.

Mary enormously pregnant – around thirty-eight weeks – at Brandi and Peter's wedding, holding a royal blue bouquet to compliment the sky blue tint of her dress. It might as well have been a Mumu because she resembled a killer whale. She stood beside Brandi who was radiant in white and beaming with elation, arms thrown around what used to be Mary's waist, making her look comically short.

"Why did you put this in here?" she groused. "I had Sam two days later; I'm an elephant."

Marshall just guffawed as she swapped pages again and her tune changed slightly seeing another one from the wedding, this of Mary and her own husband-to-be. She had a soft smile on her face – no teeth – but her hesitation seemed tired rather than reluctant and her cheeks were slightly flushed because Marshall was kissing her cheek. She reached out her index finger and traced their outlines; Marshall put his palm to her now-flat belly, remembering when Sam had slept inside and missing it just a little. But a soft coo from across the room reminded him – better out than in.

And then the times tapered quickly into present day; neither could keep the smiles of their faces.

Mary nestling Sam against her chest in her hospital bed, hair matted and loose around her face. She had her lips pressed to his head, too fatigued to notice that someone had been capturing the moment.

Marshall and his son staring at one another from a chair at her bedside; Marshall grinning and wiggling his fingers in the baby's face, pure bliss alight in his eyes.

The card that had been inside Sam's bassinet in the nursery - Samuel Mann Shannon. October 10th, 2011; eight pounds, ten ounces, twenty inches long, came in screeching two minutes before five A.M. The card had a bear in the corner, brown with a blue bow.

And the last page showed the three of them – exhausted in demeanor but deliriously happy behind the eyes on Mary's couch the day Sam had come home. Their first day as an official trio.

Mary closed the book and leaned her head into Marshall's chest. They sat in silence, the photos tumbling through Mary's mind, the memories suddenly sharper and fresher than they had been in ages. Marshall fingered her hair, twirling the strands idly and Mary traced the lines on his jeans. She could stay here forever – as Sam snoozed softly in the bed beyond.

"Why now?" she whispered, referring to the abrupt way in which he'd presented her with the album.

"Because this is our family," he said, reading her mind, resting his chin on her head. "Jinx and Brandi are mine and Griffin and Julian and my mom and all those rug rats are yours. This is where we start," he tapped the book for emphasis.

"Our beginning."

Mary leaned up and kissed him again, loving the feel of his lips on hers, the sound of Sam breathing deeply from his crib, the shouts of the kids on the floor below, the thought of Aunt Brandi back at home, and a thousand other things her mind couldn't come up with at the moment because she was too wrapped up in Marshall. He, who understood it all, who took it all with two hands, who held her faults, hopes, dreams, sacrifices, and scars without even thinking twice.

"I love you," she murmured.

"I love you too," he answered, now with her chin perched on his chest, sprawled on her belly. "Merry Christmas, cowgirl."

"You're the cowboy; I can't be the cowgirl," she teased.

"You can be the cowgirl and I'll be something else," he offered. "The sheriff."

"Sam's the sheriff," she reminded him, playing him with her eyes.

He paused thoughtfully, liking her warm body on top of his, feeling the rise and fall of her stomach as she breathed in and out and fingered the stubble on his chin.

She stretched and raked her fingers through his hair, lips beside his ear.

"You can be the stallion."

He laughed so hard Mary jumped and that was it for the bed – they'd been squeezed together to the breaking point. She tumbled off, onto the floor, hitting with a loud thud which made her start laughing too. Marshall was in fits, tears in his eyes as he howled – not for his new nickname now, but for Mary on the ground. They were so loud they woke Sam, but he didn't cry, just cooed sweetly, probably wondering what on earth his parents were doing.

Finally, Marshall got off the bed and Mary stood up; he didn't wait for her permission, he pulled her into his arms and lifted her feet from the floor so she was weightless and free. Their laughs faded into tired sighs as Marshall held her and eventually let her toes touch down again.

"Sorry," he said quietly, not sounding quite sincere as Mary giggled and pulled back to look into his eyes, arms wound around his back.

She didn't answer, so Marshall continued.

"The cowgirl, the sheriff, and the stallion," he mused and was pleasantly surprised to see Mary smirking. "A good fit?"

"Works for me," she nodded.

A delighted shout sounded from downstairs, bringing them both back into the real world. But for once, the real world seemed even better than their own private universe.

"Uncle Marshall, the cookies are done!"

"Ready partner?" he asked his girl.

She smiled, leaned forward, and kissed him quick – a silent yes – until she poked her tongue through her teeth and winked.

"Giddyup."

**A/N: The End! I really hope I wrapped this up nicely; I know there's another story floating around with a 'Sam' in it so I hope that wasn't too confusing. I really wanted Mary and Marshall to be content and happy, but not sappy and overdone; there's still going to be insecurities on Mary's part, especially with the baby. I hope I showed that they're in love, that Mary adores Sam and Marshall, but the bumps are still there because that's real life. **

**Thank-you so-so much to everyone that has reviewed! Shout outs to: jekkah, carajiggirl, The Dog in the Manager, Trinitystargazer3, Athena64, merciki, warrior-chic, Selene Illusinia, The Geek Ruler, Snowy midnight 942, SPopovich, ChibiBeth18, Eomara, Queequegg, and mmukh. You guys are wonderful!**

**Hit that button so I know how I wrapped this up – it's my BIRTHDAY so I would love the gift of reviews! ;) **


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